


The Baker and the Potions Maker

by FarAwayEyes4



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Awkward Romance, Baker Harry, Baking, Bottom Harry Potter, Courtship, Diagon Alley, Disguise, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry Potter Has PTSD, M/M, Notes, Potions, Potions Shop Owner Severus Snape, Severus Snape Has PTSD, Severus Snape Has Scars, Shops, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Stress Baking, Top Severus Snape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:54:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26308900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FarAwayEyes4/pseuds/FarAwayEyes4
Summary: After the War and a long recovery, Severus Snape opens a new potions shop, Prince's Bewitchin' Brews in Diagon Alley. Before the grand opening, he receives gifts from a mysterious admirer.Meanwhile, just three doors down, Harry Potter has become a master baker under an assumed identity. He wants to hide from his fame, from the pressures of being the Savior of the Wizarding World, and perhaps his true intentions towards a certain Potions Master.Will be a slow burn romance.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Comments: 109
Kudos: 420





	1. The Custard Has Been Set

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chickenpets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chickenpets/gifts), [Aristi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aristi/gifts).



> This is by no means my first fanfiction ever, but it is my first in the Harry Potter fandom. I have found that this fandom produces some of the best fanfiction I've read so far. I hope that this story will add to that pantheon. 
> 
> Disclaimer: All characters and Harry Potter belong to J. K. Rowling and Warner Brothers. No monies are being made from this fanfiction and no copyright infringements are intended. 
> 
> Thank you to Aristi_Fortuna for her wonderful beta work.

**Chapter One: The Custard’s Set**

With utmost care, Severus Snape set the last jar onto the shelf, his finger sliding down its smooth surface in deep thought. He glanced around the shop — _his shop_ — satisfied. It had taken him the last six months to get Prince’s Bewitchin’ Brews off the ground, but here it was: a reality. Dark wooden shelves lined the shop, stocked with ingredients and finished potions alike. The glass jars had distinctive shapes. Some were globes while others stood tall and fluted. 

There were red ones, blue ones, green ones and black ones. Severus had arranged them according to color. Those that needed the opaqueness of black or blue would be put in the furthermost corner from the window to protect the potion contained inside. The labels on each one had elegant lettering in a swooping script. Severus’ handwriting may be cramped but his magical lettering need not be. It reflected the precision and grace he wanted to convey to all of his customers. It would be a signature of his shop.

The crisp smell of cedar permeated the shop as incense wafted through the air. Severus wanted to avoid the malodorous stench that had hung over the dungeons at Hogwarts from shrouding his shop. Underlying that, there was the newness and freshness of this new start. Severus could taste its pureness as he took a deep breath. A tranquil silence filled the shop. It gave it a hushed atmosphere, as if any loud sound would disrupt its delicate balance. This calm and peacefulness would become a hallmark of Prince’s Bewitchin’ Brews. There would be no exploding cauldrons or shouting in his shop if Severus could help it. 

Every detail of this shop reflected Severus somehow, from the green and silver provided accents throughout to the elegantly painted shop name that decorated the front window. Severus had painted them personally — without magic.

This had been his dream once, before. Before everything went wrong. Before life happened to him instead of for him. Before he sacrificed his own dream to follow another’s. Now he had a second (or hundredth) chance to finally do this. And he’d be damned if he took it for granted.

Severus took a deep breath, relishing in the satisfaction of seeing his Potions shop come to fruition. He hoped that it would exceed all expectations — and silence his critics.

The war had been over for three and a half years and each breath was still a gift. He had never expected to survive, and in those last moments of that final battle, he had stared into Lily’s eyes — no, Potter’s — with the utmost certainty they would be the last thing he would ever see.

When he’d woken in St. Mungo’s, still recovering from Nagini’s bite, that emerald gaze was burned into his mind. Now that emerald gaze haunted Severus’s dreams. 

Severus’s recovery had been difficult and long, six months in St. Mungo’s. He had been appointed his own private nurse and hospital suite, a fact that still confused him. No one would tell Severus who his strange benefactor was—even when he pulled out his best intimidating scowl. 

He had also been spared a sentence in Azkaban — courtesy of the Boy Who Lived’s impassioned testimony on his behalf. Disconcertingly, Severus found himself the object of tragic hero worship.

His face was plastered on the pages of the newspapers, with ridiculous articles like “The Spy Who Lived”. The Quibbler was the worst. Xenophilius was overcompensating for the lies printed during the war with front-page stories about The Boy Who Lived Twice and humiliating exposés like “Snape: The Lonely Headmaster”. It had been so bad for a time that Severus could hardly enter Diagon Alley without being bombarded by crying mothers, grabbing onto his cloak, crying their thanks. Thankfully, the media circus had only lasted six months.

Severus wasn’t sure if he wanted to repay Potter for saving him from Azkaban or shake him for throwing him into the very public spotlight.

Severus blinked, dispelling the thoughts. He now had a prestigious shop located in Diagon Alley — and the coveted Hogwarts contract. A pleased smile twisted his lips thinking about the new Potions Professor who would have to endure teaching the dunderheads. 

He was quite content to leave that monstrosity of a career in the past. This did not mean that Severus wouldn’t enjoy sending the ingredients to his unfortunate successor. 

A soft tapping drew his attention towards the windows. A small brown owl pecked at the glass, ruffling its mottled feathers, wings stretched wide. It hooted impatiently, pecking repeatedly. Severus’ eyebrows drew together. His shop didn’t open until tomorrow. He had suspended his owl order business for two weeks to prepare for the grand opening. This did not seem like business correspondence. Severus couldn’t imagine who would owl him personally.

Severus opened the door, letting the owl into the shop. He left the door ajar so the owl could leave after making its delivery. The bird clutched a small package in each talon and a letter banded around a leg. Severus plucked one package from an extended leg. He waved his wand over it, testing it for dark magic and jinxes. It came back clean. 

That didn’t mean he could trust these gifts — or their sender. It was Severus’s experience that people didn’t give him things without wanting something in return. He eyed each item with suspicion, certain that that there was a price attached somewhere, either in gold or favors. If not that, perhaps it was sent to mock him.

Neither option pleased Severus.

Severus unfurled the note. It was unsigned. Absently, he fed the owl a treat as he read it.

> _May your potions ensnare your customers as you have ensnared me._

Severus snorted. He flipped the note over more than once, trying to identify its sender. Reading it again, he arched an eyebrow. It had been written by a Quick-Quotes-Quill, obviously to hide the handwriting. Who would do something like that? Who would send something like that to him of all people?

“Someone thinks they’re awfully clever. What rubbish.”

Slipping the first package open, Severus revealed a small wooden sign. The mass produced lacquer marked it as Muggle-made, though some words had clearly been marked out and replaced by his mysterious sender. Its green lettering read:

> _Any unattended ~~children~~ crotch-goblins will be given a ~~kitten~~ kneazle. And a Bubbling Beverage._

Severus shook his head at its kitsch, bemused by the gift. Whoever sent this knew him well enough to know that he would have no trouble handling — managing, rather — unruly children that wandered into his shop. He no longer had to tolerate such behavior after all. The sign would remind his customers of that fact.

“A kneazle, indeed.” 

Severus set the sign in a prominent place upon the register, tilted his head, and eyed the placement critically. He moved it a centimeter to the left, satisfied. Severus cast a small sticking charm to keep it in place. 

Severus opened a small box he had warded and slipped the strange flirtatious note inside. Joke that it may be, he felt unable to toss it into the rubbish bin. After all, a man in his forties with his _embellishments_ may never receive another note like it.

The owl pecked him again, drawing his attention to the other small package. Severus picked it up, scratching the owl between the ears with his other hand. He fed it another treat. Then, the owl disappeared through the still ajar door. 

Severus opened this one to find a bakery treat: a small custard. It looked exquisite and tantalizing. Severus truly did enjoy custard. He picked it up out of the box, popping the small bite-sized delicacy into his mouth. 

It’s velvet richness and creaminess melted instantly. Whomever had made this had outdone the Hogwarts House Elves. The vanilla laced through it gave it a delicate flavor. The flaky crust tasted buttery. Its snap provided a strong compliment to the smooth filling. Severus wished that there had been more.

Another note sat at the bottom of the box. 

It read:

> _Compliments of the Deathly Confections. Congratulations on becoming the latest shop in Diagon Alley. May Prince’s Bewitchin’ Brews have many good years ahead of it._

“The Deathly Confections?” Severus snorted. “What an indulgent name. Such pretension.”

And yet he couldn’t deny their confectionery skill. 

Severus would have to check this bakery out before opening the shop in the morning. They just might become a routine stop going forward. 

\----------------------------------------

Harry watched Severus Snape, unseen, hidden beneath his Invisibility Cloak. He had followed the owl into Prince’s Bewitching Brews, unable to resist the lure of seeing Severus’ reactions to his carefully selected gifts. His stomach fluttered with anticipation and nerves when Severus checked the packages for curses and spells, but he relaxed when he saw the Potions Master put his note carefully away in a box for safekeeping. A bright smile broke across his face when Severus put the sign on display, and widened when the man ate the custard. This had been a bigger success than Harry had ever expected.  
Wait until he told Kreacher about this!

On silent feet, Harry slipped back into the street and walked three doors down to his bakery, The Deathly Confections.

\---------------------------------------

“Master Harry!” Kreacher greeted joyfully once Harry entered the back entrance of his shop.

Pulling the Cloak off, Harry admonished softly, “I’ve told you to just call me Harry, Kreacher. You’re my business partner — not my servant. 

Kreacher snorted and glared at Harry. “Master Harry be trying to start that fight with Kreacher again.”

There was no anger, just affection in his voice.

Harry hung the Cloak on a hook in the warded cabinet. “I don’t know if I should tell you how it went if you’re going to be like that.”

Kreacher harrumphed before bowing low. “Humble apologies, Master Harry.”

Harry smiled at the elderly House Elf. They had become such constant companions in the last two years. The cranky House Elf had become steadfast and loyal after the locket, and once the War had been won. 

Kreacher had become so invaluable to Harry that he was the only one to know his biggest secret. Harry Potter was trying to court Severus Snape. Romantically.

Harry just wasn’t ready to tell Ron and Hermoine. 

“Well, it went better than I thought it would,” Harry said with a bemused smile. “He didn’t set any of the things on fire. That’s good.” 

“Don’t tease Kreacher, Master Harry.” 

“He kept the sign and the note.” Harry shrugged. “He even liked the custard!”

“Master Snape always did like that custard. Kreacher told you it would be a good first treat to give him. Yous just need to listen to Kreacher.”

The House Elf stepped closer, looking up at him. A concerned look crossed his weathered face and his ears drooped.

“Kreacher is hoping that Master Harry knows what he is doing where it concerns Master Snape. Kreacher doesn’t want all this effort to be wasted on someone ungrateful.” 

“We’re not having this conversation again, Kreacher,” Harry chuckled. “I have no illusions. It will be a very long time before I reveal to Severus that I’m the one sending him gifts. I need to see if today was a fluke or a hopeful sign.”

“Just promise Kreacher that Master Harry will be careful.” 

“Aren’t I always?” Harry grabbed an apron. He tied it around his waist and rolled up his sleeves.

“Master Harry, it is late. Yous needs rest. Go home. Let Kreacher take care of things for the morning.” Kreacher eyed him, a scowl on his aged face. “Kreacher knows yous hasn’t slept in two days.” 

Too much adrenaline coursed through Harry. He couldn’t think about returning to the dreariness of Grimmauld Place now. It would only cause him to spiral. Harry needed to occupy his hands to occupy his mind. Sleep only invited the nightmares. The house only strengthened their power. Harry had no desire to walk their desolate landscapes tonight.

His bakery, the Deathly Confections, had been born of insomnia. Harry had taken one of the most hated elements of his childhood at the Dursley’s and turned it into a rewarding career. It may have been Aunt Petunia who had forced Harry to learn to bake the Muggle way, but in the aftermath of the War, Harry had found peace in busying his hands. It satisfied him to make delectable confections that he could share with those most important to him. He’d reclaimed the practice as a retreat from the dark thoughts that sometimes plagued him in the uncertain peace. It gave him satisfaction to pour his passion into handbaked delectable confections.

Harry didn’t do it for the acclaim — or for the profit. He didn’t need to worry about money, after all. Harry funneled his profits towards War recovery in whatever capacity that was most needed. He baked because it helped to chase his demons away. He baked because it allowed him to escape the pressures of his fame. When his hands were in the thick of bread dough or he was whisking an egg, he was just Harry Potter—and not the Boy Who Lived Twice or the Savior of the Wizarding World. 

It had taken Harry six months to master the spells required to make magical baking possible. It had taken six more to set up his bakery in Diagon Alley — all behind a facade. No one but a select few even knew that Harry owned this bakery, let alone that he was the baker. It stood not on his fame but on its own merits. The first six months had been trial and error. Into his second year, however, Harry’s bakery had won its first award. 

He had decided against working for the Ministry under any circumstances. Not after everything they had done — or not done.

Baking at least brought joy into the world. One could only chase shadows away with sunlight, after all.

Harry put together his mise-en-place, double checking all of his equipment and ingredients. He looked down at Kreacher, a small smile on his face. “Tonight, let’s bake some scones for the morning. A few sweet and a few savory, yes? You said that Severus prefers those with his tea at breakfast. He can’t have any unless they’re baked by me personally.”

“Master Harry! You must rest!” Kreacher hopped up and down, causing his leathery ears to flap. “Let Kreacher make them. Sleep.”

“I’ll sleep once these are baked, promise.” 

Harry mixed his dry ingredients together, sifting them. With a flick of his wand, he cubed his frozen butter. Scraping it into his dry ingredients, he selected his pastry cutter. Harry would do this by hand. The precise circular motions and the rhythmic turning of the bowl provided a salve to his frayed nerves. Harry couldn’t control much, but he could control this. He breathed deeply, relaxing as he executed the task. A waft of butter and cinnamon filled his nostrils. Once it resembled coarse crumble, he set this aside. 

Harry selected the Honeycrisp apple, and peeled it with the swish of his wand. He set the knives to dice it as fine as possible. He cracked an egg, poured in the heavy cream and beat both by hand. The clang of the whisk soothed Harry.

The scene at the potions shop replayed in Harry’s mind. He hadn’t been that near to Severus since the man had been released from St. Mungo’s. He had visited Severus often, under he cover of the Invisibility Cloak of course. Harry hadn’t wanted to overwhelm the man — or reveal that he had been the benefactor paying for the expensive treatments and specialty suite. 

Then, Severus had looked like everyone else had at the time: worn, haggard, gaunt and exhausted. His scars had only emphasized his weariness.

Now? Severus looked rugged. The man would never be conventionally handsome, no. But his face had become fuller, his frame less rail thin. His black hair had grown longer, glossier. Severus’s dark gaze would always remain wary, but Harry delighted that it hadn’t seemed haunted or despondent anymore.

Harry kneaded his dry ingredients into his wet ones by hand. 

“He seemed content,” Harry muttered aloud. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Severus like that.”

Harry’s dough started to form nicely as it soaked up the wet ingredients. 

“His shop is so _him_. Refined and elegant and... _dangerous_.” 

“Master Snape be dangerous to Master Harry’s heart,” Kreacher muttered as he prepared the cinnamon rolls for the morning rush.

Harry let that comment slide. Kreacher may very well be right about that — and yet Harry couldn’t help himself. Severus excited him. Intrigued him. He posed _such_ a challenge to Harry. He wasn’t sure he would he ever breach the thorny protections Severus created through the years, but Harry wanted to try. 

He shaped the dough into a disc. Taking a bench scraper, Harry sliced a dozen wedges. Each ended up on a baking tray, dabbed with more heavy cream.

“My gifts made Severus Snape happy,” Harry whispered, awed. “And here I thought I’d seen everything in the Wizarding World.”

“Master Snape’s never once come to thank Master Harry for helping him. Not once,” Kreacher muttered as he put the rolls into another oven. “Kreacher don’t think Master Snape be worth this fuss.”

Harry stiffened as he stopped mid-mix of his savory scones: rosemary and sage. He scowled down at Kreacher. He gritted his teeth and ground out, “Care to share that with the rest of the room, Kreacher?” 

Kreacher ducked his head, his frame tense. He said, his voice sandpaper thin, “No, Master Harry. Kreacher has nothing important to say.”

Harry sighed. He knew the House Elf didn’t approve of his desire to court Severus. Kreacher had made that plain by lecturing him shortly after Harry had expressed his intentions towards the Potions Master. Even though the House Elf had had punished himself throughout for daring to question his master’s decisions, he remained steadfast in his opinion that this would only end in Harry’s heartache. Severus Snape would be a challenging man to satisfy or please. This made Kreacher’s protective streak emerge whenever the subject was brought up. A swell of affection coursed through him that Kreacher would be so steadfastly loyal to him.

How had he become so lucky to earn such love and respect from the prickly House Elf? 

And yet, Harry knew his heart wanted what it wanted. 

“Severus Snape never needs to thank me,” Harry whispered. “He’s already saved my life more times than I can ever count or repay him. Never forget that, Kreacher.” 

“Yes, Master Harry.”

“I just want to make Severus happy.”


	2. Chapter Two: Tabloids, Scones and Meltdowns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus prepares for his first day running his shop by stopping for some breakfast and a newspaper. He doesn't care one whit about Potter's latest escapades in the paper. Not at all. 
> 
> Harry reacts to having a special customer visit his bakery and suffers some anxiety. 
> 
> Thankfully, he has Kreacher to help him through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All characters and Harry Potter belong to J. K. Rowling and Warner Brothers. No monies are being made from this fanfiction and no copyright infringements are intended.
> 
> Thank you to Aristi_Fortuna for her wonderful beta work.

**Chapter Two: Tabloids, Scones and Meltdowns**

Severus stopped at the newsstand on his way to Deathly Confections. He purchased a Daily Prophet. His subscription had expired a year ago and he hadn’t bothered to renew it. After all, they hadn’t improved in quality or substance. Severus only purchased it on occasion to see what outlandish things they reported on lately. 

Like today.

In big bold capital letters, the headline caught the Potion Master’s eye. It read:

> ****
> 
> ****
> 
> CHOSEN ONE SEEN AT _SEEKERS AND BEATERS_. NEW ROMANCE WITH QUIDDITCH STAR DAVID, BEATER FOR THE CHUDLEY CANNONS! (Details Inside!)

Below, Potter was pictured mid-kiss with David, a burly man.

Severus snorted, a scowl on his lips. It seemed just as things changed, others stayed the same. Potter still sought attention. His need for the spotlight stuck out like a too bright Lumos. Why else would Potter flaunt his sexual escapades in front of everyone?

Why else would he display his _preferences_ in front of everyone?

Severus wasn’t jealous. Not at all. 

He didn’t think Potter looked lovely with a blush on his cheeks or the delicate lashes fluttering over his eyes. Certainly not.

“They look ridiculous together. Is that brute kissing him or trying to devour Potter’s face?” Severus muttered, tempted to throw the news rag away. 

Folding it with a crisp snap, Severus pocketed it instead. He might need to renew his subscription. He wanted to see how long Potter would continue this fling. 

“What rubbish. Why should I care what that entitled brat is doing?” Severus entered the bakery, just doors down from his shop. 

Its decor was soft blue and green. Little tables dotted the checkerboard floor. An expansive counter and display case provided a wide variety of treats. Silver stencils dotted the counter. Upon inspection, Severus realized that they were the Deathly Hallows. On the case front, a frosted version etched its way across the glass. He arched an eyebrow at its prominence. 

It was certainly a bold decoration choice. 

The baked goods on silver and white dishes looked as professionally done as the custard he had received the night before—and as delectable. Severus spotted that they also provided tea and coffee. The rich aroma of the beverages brewing wafted through the space, giving it a welcoming warmth. He breathed it in as it banished the morning fog in his mind. 

A large beefy man stood behind the counter, assisting the customer ahead of Severus. He had heavy jowls and piggy eyes. A friendly smile crossed his face as he thanked the woman for her purchases. A small woman emerged from the back, saying something to the man. Severus surmised that he must be the master baker by how she deferred to him. 

The man nodded, waving her away. He looked up, his expression morphing from polite greeting to astonishment. His small eyes widened comically, almost bulging. A ruddy blush flushed his fat cheeks. A broad smile broke over his large face. He approached, bouncing on the balls of his feet like an overeager puppy greeting a returning master. 

Severus narrowed his eyes, knowing he had never seen this man before. He supposed his reputation must have preceded him yet again. _Damn Potter_ , he thought to himself. If the sodding Savior of the Wizarding World hadn’t turned him into a celebrity this way, he’d be able to visit this bakery in peace and sweet anonymity. Severus folded his arms across his chest, and his back straightened. Severus detested the hero-worship almost as much as the revulsion. 

All he wanted was some damn breakfast. 

“Welcome to Deathly Confections, sir.” The honorific had great emphasis. It unnerved Severus. “What can I get you?”

“What _may_ you get me. You _may_ get me some scones and strong breakfast tea, please,” Severus said coolly. He flicked his gaze to the man’s name tag. “Dudley.” 

“We have a rosemary and sage and a sweet scone of apple cinnamon, sir. Baked by yours truly. Which would you prefer?” Pride laced through the baker’s words. Dudley turned, grabbing tongs to select his purchases. “The apples are Honeycrisp and the rosemary and sage have a rich earthiness to them, sir.” 

“One of each shall suffice.”

“Very good, sir.” 

Severus grit his teeth at every _sir_. He preferred to be addressed with honorifics, but the way Dudley said the word sir made him uncomfortable. He hadn’t had such fawning attention since the first few months after the War had ended. He resisted the urge to squirm, self-conscious. The title almost sounded like a reverent invocation. He shifted a bit on his feet and bit his cheek to hold back a biting remark at the exceeding homage.

Dudley picked two scones, wrapping them in crisp tissue paper. He handed them to Severus, the gesture making the baked goods like an offering. He turned, pouring a cup of tea. He put the lid on top, securing it in place. Dudley set it on the counter. 

“Will that be all, sir?” 

Severus snorted, drawing a few coins. He nodded. “Yes. That will be all—Dudley.” 

“You can put those coins away, sir. Your breakfast is complimentary of Deathly Confections.” Dudley held his hands up in a surrendering gesture. A pleading expression crossed his round face. He stammered, “I only hope that you come back again soon, sir.”

Severus squeezed his hand around his money, his eyes narrowed. He didn’t want anyone’s charity. He also didn’t want it because of his newfound hero status. He was not Potter—he did not want special treatment. 

Severus harrumphed, sliding each coin into the tip jar defiantly. Each one clinked and clanged as they were slowly deposited. He kept his gaze trained on Dudley, making sure the baker got the message about his _special treatment_. 

If this bakery hoped to survive it couldn’t give every customer their first order free. 

“Thank you—Dudley,” Severus said acidly. He picked up the tea and exited the shop. He made sure his robes billowed with a flourish as he stomped out into the street. 

Back at his own shop, Severus unlocked the door and stepped through. He didn’t open for another hour. He would take his time and enjoy his breakfast. Severus sat down at the table in his lab. He set his tea and bag of scones down. He spread the paper over the table, smoothing it down with a palm. He pulled a scone out, nibbling on it before sipping his tea. Both were divine, rich, and flavorful with the right blend of spices. He would savor it. 

And he would relish reading about the foolishness Potter was getting himself into these days.  
\------------  
Harry stretched after the poly juice potion wore off. He didn’t want to appear out front too often in his baker persona, but he couldn’t help himself when he knew Severus would visit this morning prior to opening his shop for the first time. 

Usually, Harry preferred to be in his kitchen baking while his staff worked on the sales floor. He hated customer service. So many were downright rude or pushy or entitled. Harry, being a people pleaser, didn’t handle that well. Too often he caved to their demands to accommodate them and then felt as if he had somehow fallen back to his miserable childhood at the Dursleys. 

He would have to thank Dudley for his likeness. Again. 

The two estranged cousins had met again quite by accident. Harry, needing a night of anonymity, had slipped into Muggle London the first month after the War. Dudley had been at the bar. They had both been surprised and an awkward chance meeting had blossomed into a tentative friendship then into a brotherly bond. Once out on his own, Dudley had changed from the spoiled bully to a gentle giant. 

After Harry had told his cousin his dream and had answered more questions about magic than the Statute of Secrecy probably permitted, it had been Dudley that had suggested he be Harry’s baker persona. That had surprised him to no end. He had declined at first, certain that it was either a trick or would be too much of a burden for his cousin. Dudley may have changed since they had last seen one another, but Harry had a hard time trusting not just someone who had tormented him at one time but trusting anyone. He had thought about it relentlessly throughout the week after Dudley had made his offer before finally accepting it. 

As uncomfortable as that persona could be, it had been worth it to see Severus. The man had come in just after six AM—just as Kreacher said he would. The Potions Master’s demeanor hadn’t changed much. He was still surly, dour, and prickly. That didn’t bother Harry anymore. At least not the way it used to do. Rather, Harry found Severus’s grouchiness amusing. He also found it sexy. Severus may be an early riser, but it was clear that he did not like it. His narrowed eyes and tight frown spoke volumes about Severus’ opinion on the early hour. 

Severus had ordered exactly what Harry hoped he would. If Harry had it his way, Severus would only ever eat what he himself had baked. Nothing else would ever be good enough for the man. 

“You were right, Kreacher. Severus went right for the tea and scones,” Harry said, smiling down at the elderly House Elf. “He didn’t even look at anything else in the dessert cases.” 

“Yous just keep listening to Kreacher, Master Harry.” Kreacher took a tray out of the oven. 

Harry wiped down his work surface. His mind wandered to Severus. The man had been so handsome this morning. The scars on his neck and shoulder only made him more so. Their white lines stamped Severus as a survivor and the hero that Harry knew him to be. But it wasn’t that alone that made Severus all the more attractive. His dark eyes crackled with raw power and emotion. Their onyx depths blazed. His gaze seemed to penetrate to the soul. Harry also loved the man’s aquiline nose. It, like his eyes, had been a defining feature of his striking face. Harry could have spent the rest of the day tracing its contours with his eyes—or his fingers. 

Severus remained steadfast to his preference for black robes. Unlike his teaching robes, however, Harry noted that they were made of much richer materials. They shimmered as he moved. They had a bluish tint to them. Harry loved that they allowed for Severus’ tendencies towards dramatics. He could easily make them billow for a dramatic exit—or to intimidate an opponent by making the already tall wizard seem that much bigger. Most of all, Severus’ new robes complimented his longer hair. His mane had a richer and deeper color. Not one speck of gray marred its raven wing shade.

Yes, Harry could spend the rest of the daydreaming about Severus Snape. 

Harry frowned as he examined his own behavior, his anxiety spiking. Heat flooded his cheeks and a chill ran down his spine. He wiped his workbench down with furious swipes. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t have gone out there this morning,” Harry muttered to himself. He rubbed a crusty spot extra hard. Sugar stubbornly stuck to his workbench. “I probably made a total git out of myself. Severus despises over-eagerness.”

Kreacher rotated trays in the oven with the snap of a finger. He frowned, making his aged face all the more wrinkled. He appealed softly, “Master Harry?”

“I probably drove him away. Why would he come back after I acted like a stupid schoolboy with a crush?” Harry squeezed his hand around his rag. A bit of water ran between his fingers. “I think I called him sir at least ten times. Oh, God. That’s so embarrassing.”

“Kreacher knew Master Snape would upset Master Harry,” the House Elf muttered as he started the dough for the sticky buns. His ingredients added themselves magically to the bowl as he stirred them together, forming a dough. Kreacher declared, “Master Snape is not a nice man.” 

“I know I irritated Severus. Did you hear how he kept calling me Dudley?” Harry buried his face in his hands. They smelled sour and vinegary. He lamented, “He said it just like he used to say Potter. Oh, God. I’m so stupid! Why was it so hot when he said it? Severus won’t come back for sure. He won’t suffer anything that irritates him. Why should he now? Severus doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to. I’m such a damn git.” 

Kreacher snorted, making a tray of uniform-sized buns. “Master Snape should be grateful to have Master Harry’s attention if yous ask Kreacher. Master Harry is so kind and good. Too good for nasty Master Snape.” 

A hysterical giggle burst from Harry. He sucked in a breath, trying to not hyperventilate. “Oh fuck. Severus probably was turned off by ‘Dudley,’ too. I don’t think either is each other’s type at all. He must think I’m barmy. After all, Severus could attract anyone. Did you see how hot he was this morning? He’s so damn sexy. Does he even know?” 

Harry scrubbed the counter hard again. He saw Severus standing there in his memory. The suspicious and stern expression spoke volumes. The man’s stance had been defensive and closed off. It had only become more so the longer Harry had blathered. 

And yet, Harry couldn’t help but feel that Severus had seen right through him. 

He had never been successful in lying to Severus. Somehow, he always knew what Harry was hiding. No matter how many times Harry had evaded being caught or punished, he knew that Severus saw through it all. He had always known when Harry had lied or when he’d done something he shouldn’t. Severus always knew. He had often been the only one who had called him out on it back at Hogwarts, too. 

“Oh no!” Harry gasped, his eyes going wide. He threw his rag down with a slap. Some water splashed onto his apron. He said hoarsely, “What if he figured it out? I mean, you should have seen him, Kreacher. He stood there, arms crossed, scowling just like he did when I was at Hogwarts. He saved that look of disdain only for me. Severus is smart! I’m pants at this.” 

“Master Snape looks like that at everyone. Kreacher saw. Kreacher watched through the window.” Kreacher made another tray of buns. He stepped closer to Harry, a concerned expression softening his weathered face. “Don’t yous worry about Master Snape, Master Harry.”

Harry scrubbed a hand through his untamed hair. He tugged on it hard by the roots. “I’ve cocked it all up.” He sighed, sitting heavily onto the chair Kreacher conjured so he wouldn’t slide to the floor. He threw his arms wide. “And then—then—I wouldn’t let him pay. He was so spiteful about that. Shoved all his galleons into the tip jar just to make a point. Damn, it was so hot to watch. Why didn’t I just let him pay! He’ll never come back for sure.”

Kreacher harrumphed, the sound raspy. He said, his thin paper voice scornful, “Master Snape should pay. He owes so much to Master Harry.” 

“Kreacher—,” Harry chided, frowning down at the scowling House Elf. He shook his head, clearing his mind. The shadow of anxiety and doubt ebbed away. “You know I won’t ever do that. I won’t let him pay. I owe him too much.” 

Harry would not take money from Severus Snape. He knew that his baked goods were poor reparations. 

Harry clapped his hands to dispel the darkness. “Let’s make tea cakes.” 

Harry wanted to have them ready for tea time. The delicacies complimented his array of teas well. Harry found tea cakes comforting to bake. Their various flavors and sizes and shapes gave his hands something to do. The act of baking provided a salve to his jangled nerves.

He took out some flour and caster sugar. Harry set out some butter. These were the base ingredients for any tea cake. Now he just needed a flavor. Which one? There were so many to choose from. It would help to know which one Severus liked best. 

Severus would come back.

And if he didn’t right away? Harry would send another treat. And another cryptic note. 

Courting Severus Snape would take time and patience. To expect one encounter—while in disguise no less—to win the man over would not do. Severus had many layers of protection. He had spent so long guarding his heart and his true self that Harry would have to break through many defenses to find the real Severus Snape hidden inside. Severus’ complexity added to his allure and made him all the more challenging to woo. Harry would have to treat the man like he might a complicated bake: with diligence, perseverance, and attention to detail. 

Communicating how Harry felt had never come easy to him. He could, however, show it in his bakes. He remembered his loved ones’ favorite flavors. Harry expressed compassion for a friend in need by baking something comforting like buttery shortbread. He said thank you with tarts. Harry said “I love you” with his treacle, his warm-from-the-oven breads, and puddings. He couldn’t speak the words, but he knew that the message was received by how happy those who received these baked gifts were. Their astonished expressions, their gasps, the way they devoured what he made with relish all told him that they understood what he wanted to tell them.

For Harry, baking had become his primary language. It was the only one that always made sense. Words often failed him. Butter and eggs, cream and sugar, flour and salt never did. 

Given enough time, somehow, someway, he would win the surly man over. Harry was far too stubborn. Severus always said so. He couldn’t just give up.

Not now.

“Master Harry, make the pear and olive oil ones. Master Snape always requested those at tea time. No one else wanted them. They were just for him.” 

“Really? He did? And no one else wanted them?” Harry grinned. He loved learning these small details, the idiosyncrasies of the Potions Master. He patted the old House Elf on the shoulder, a small cloud of flour puffing into the air. “Thanks, Kreacher. For the tip.” Harry ducked his head, his shoulders hunching. “And well—you know. Getting me out of my own head.”


	3. Chapter Three: Whipping Up Interest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry, Draco, Ron, and Hermoine plan the next Potter Sightings for the paper. 
> 
> After, Harry visits Severus's shop while under the Invisibility Cloak. Is there someone there that will make him jealous?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All characters and Harry Potter belong to J. K. Rowling and Warner Brothers. No monies are being made from this fanfiction and no copyright infringements are intended.
> 
> Thank you to Aristi_Fortuna for her wonderful beta work.

**Chapter Three: Whipping Up Interest**

Harry threw the paper down onto the coffee table at Grimmauld Place. He shook his head at the outlandish headline and the outrageous photograph that accompanied it. Rita Skeeter had outdone herself. She certainly flocked to sensationalism like a moth — or beetle — to a flame. This tidbit would stretch for a week at least. Skeeter would speculate in multiple articles exploring everything from Harry’s sexuality to how he had met David to what the relationship might become. 

The Daily Prophet remained a trashy tabloid.

Harry turned to Malfoy, smiling wide. He exclaimed, “You’ve outdone yourself this time, Malfoy.”

Malfoy bowed with a flourish. A sardonic smile graced his pale face. “I aim to please, Potter. You said to get on the front page. I did.” 

“Well, there should be no question now that I’m gay,” Harry said. “If that doesn’t stop them from putting me on the cover of Witch Weekly, nothing will.” 

“Who told you that you were gay, hmm?” Malfoy smirked at him. “I knew you were gay at eleven, Potter.” 

“So you like to remind me often.” Harry snorted. He imitated Malfoy’s drawl, remarking, “It’s as plain as the hideous scar on your face.”

Harry was grateful to Malfoy for helping him to come to terms with his own sexuality. He had been confused by the emotions Severus had stirred in him. Harry was hopelessly and irrevocably attracted to one man. Malfoy had made sure he knew that was okay. 

“How’s the charity?” Harry asked. 

“We’re doing well. Seeker’s and Beater’s keeps it not just afloat but well funded. Now that I’m not allowed to touch the Malfoy trust---,” Malfoy left the rest of the sentence unfinished. He co-owned the club, all of their profits going to help fund LGBTQ+ charities. “Anyways, we’re close to having a shelter for other young witches and wizards in the LGBTQ+ community that are rejected by their families. It’ll be nice to see some of them have a safe space.” 

Too many Sacred Twenty-Eight families remained steadfastly conservative and insistent upon their families continuing longstanding traditions. They argued that they had given up so much already in the wake of the War that they would not allow such sweeping change to come without resistance. 

“You should know, David is a terrible kisser,” Malfoy said, waving a hand. “That’s unfortunate. He’s rather fit.”

“Not my type, Malfoy,” Harry snorted. He wouldn’t push Malfoy, knowing that falling out with his father still remained a sore subject. 

Harry liked tall, dark, handsome, surly, and mysterious over burly, big, and oafish.

“Not your type, eh?” Malfoy waggled his eyebrows at Harry. He smirked, eyeing him up and down. “You’ll have to tell me your type someday, Potter.” 

“You’re also not my type, Malfoy.”

“Puh-lease, Potter. We’re both bratty bottoms. I need a top that can handle me and give me everything that I want.” Malfoy rubbed his fingernails on his expensive robes: black with silver trim. They made Malfoy’s eyes shine like pale moonlight. “I have standards.”

“Standards. Right,” Harry snorted, his arms crossed. He shook his head, glaring in derision. “That’s why you went home with that brute the last time we all went out together. Was it worth it?”

The tea kettle sang. Harry bustled over to it, preparing the tea. He started to plate the tea cakes when a loud pop crackled through the air. It made Harry jump.

“Master Harry!” Kreacher stood there, arms crossed. His eyes narrowed as he glared up at Harry. “You is doing Kreacher’s job! You is busy with a guest! Let Kreacher get that!”

Harry looked down at the elderly House Elf. He blinked. His hands paused in the plating, his fingers twitching. “I can do it, Kreacher. Besides, Malfoy isn’t a guest.”

“I’m hurt, Potter,” Malfoy said, a hand over his heart.

“You’re not a guest, Malfoy, because you’re my friend. Guest is too impersonal, you prat.” He shook his head, smiling.

Malfoy smirked. “Of course.” He turned to Kreacher, who was holding his hands out as if to take the plates from Harry. “Kreacher, come work for me. I’m an actual Black. I’ll let you do everything.”

Kreacher turned his narrowed glare on Malfoy. His eyes scanned the Slytherin. Kreacher snorted, his big ears flapping. “Master Harry needs Kreacher more.” 

“You’re probably right about that,” Malfoy chuckled. “Just remember, the offer is always on the table.” 

Harry placed the tray onto the table. “Kreacher, if you really want to help me, check to make sure the bakery is ready for the afternoon shift. I’ll be there once I’m done with Malfoy, Ron, and Hermoine.”

“Yes, Master Harry.” Kreacher bowed low before disappearing with a crack.

Malfoy sat down in a chair, his legs dangling over the arms. He cupped his hands around his teacup. He sipped it, gazing at Harry. “To answer your question, yes it was worth it. Not everyone is saving themselves like you, Potter. I’ll have you know that the _brute_ knew just how to handle my brattiness. I think I was sore for a solid week. He justifiably pounded me into submission. Means I learned my lesson, yes?” 

“Too much information, Malfoy.” Harry blushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t want to think about you shagging, thank you very much.”

“You blush so pretty, Potter. A top would find that very sexy about you,” Malfoy smirked, sipping on his tea. “Question. Is sex off the table while I strut as the Chosen One?”

“Yes! Merlin, yes!” Harry buried his face into his hands. He groaned in disgust. “Ugh. No sex while wearing my face. Get laid wearing your own face, thanks.” Harry’s lips puckered into a sour lemon face. “I really didn’t need to know all of that, Malfoy.” 

“Know what, mate?” Ron asked, stepping through the floo as it flared. His gaze landed on Malfoy. Ron rolled his eyes. “Oh. Never mind. Ferret Face is here.” 

“Weasel,” Malfoy drawled. He saluted Ron with his teacup. “How _nice_ to see you.”

“Hey, you two. Play nice.” Harry poured some tea for Ron. He handed a plate of tea cakes to the redhead. “We need to talk about the next news cycle. The more they think I’m out there living my best life post-War, the more likely they’ll never figure out that I’m just a baker.”

“Just a baker? Just a baker!” Ron spluttered, sloshing his tea. He blinked owlishly at Harry. “Mate, I’d sell my soul for your Bath buns. I’d sell me left _nut_ for your treacle. Your scones are so divine they’re sinful. _You_ are the best baker in Wizarding Britain, Harry. Don’t tell mum that I said that.” 

“Fine. If you say so, Ron,” Harry replied, a fond smile curling on his lips. “Point is, I want to be left alone. So we need a plan to distract everyone from poking into my actual life. What do you say, you two?” 

The floo flashed green again. He turned, seeing Hermoine emerge. She brushed soot off her robes. “Sorry, I’m late. I had a delay at work. A new shipment of books arrived at the library and I had to sign for them. Some exciting titles came and I browsed for a little too long. Did I miss anything?” 

Hermoine had brought the idea of the public library to the Wizarding World. She had held fundraisers, pitched her case to both the hapless Ministry and the public alike, and started to amass copies of both magical and Muggle texts. Hermoine had built it from the ground up. She had managed to purchase a large space to establish the library not far from Gringotts. 

“That’s alright, ‘Mione,” Ron said, kissing her cheek. “Malfoy and I were just starting to brainstorm with Harry.” 

“ _You_ were stroking Potter’s already massive ego,” Malfoy retorted. He placed a palm on his chest, his rings glinting in the low candlelight. “ _I_ was trying not to retch.” 

Considering the overshare you were giving me before Ron arrived, you’re one to talk,” Harry remarked, glaring at Malfoy. 

“Touché.” Malfoy sipped his tea, smirking behind his cup. “How about this? I’m thinking that I’ll go to the club again. Can I dance with these blokes or is that too much for your prudish sensibilities, Potter?” Malfoy waited for Harry’s nod and continued, “are we talking a modest distance between us? What about slow dancing?”

Harry crossed his arms, rolling his eyes.“Unless your version of dancing is public sex, have at it, Malfoy.” He paused, then leveled his gaze on Malfoy, lips pursed. “You know what?” He threw his hands up in the air. “Dance as dirty as you can. That’ll get Skeeter’s attention for sure.”

Harry hoped it might also get the attention of a certain Potions Master. It might even make him jealous.

“Dirty dancing, you say?” Malfoy grinned evilly. He waggled his eyebrows. “Done. You may regret this, Potter. The Wizarding World will think you’re a slutty bottom when I’m done.”

“Malfoy, I already regret so much when it comes to this,” Harry deadpanned.

“You enjoy that too much, Ferret Face,” Ron said. He shuddered, grimacing. 

“What? You want to go grind back against some handsy top instead, Weasel?” Malfoy waggled his eyebrows. “We all know Granger has top energy.” 

“Draco!” Hermoine chided, blushing.

“You’re sick, Malfoy,” Ron said, scowling. 

“Oh come on, you know I’m right about Granger. She’s totally the top in your relationship and we both know it,” Malfoy said, rolling his eyes. “Always so sensitive, Weasel.” 

“Anywho,” Harry interrupted. His shoulders tensed. While Ron and Malfoy had formed a truce, their exchanges always made him leery. Harry did _not_ want to end up in the middle of a duel — or knowing Ron, a fistfight. “We also need another Potter Sighting for the papers. Something a lot less scandalous. Everyone seems to be excited to see celebrities acting like normal people. Let’s give them that.” 

“Grocery shopping!” Ron blurted. He smacked his fist into his palm. “I’ll do it!” 

“Ron!” Hermoine admonished, her arms crossed. She glared at him, her brows knit together in disapproval. “You are shameless!”

“What?” Ron grabbed a tea cake, shoving the whole thing into his face. He said around a mouthful, “Harry needs a decoy and we need groceries. You know they pretty much give him that stuff for free. Someone should benefit. Why not us?” 

“Fine, but don’t go overboard.” Hermoine sipped some tea. She narrowed her eyes at Ron. “And don’t talk with your mouth full, Ron.” 

“See? Top energy,” Malfoy drawled. 

Ron glared at Malfoy, flipping him off. The gesture came with a curling sneer. Malfoy threw his head back and laughed, the sound rich and earthy. 

While Ron and Malfoy’s banter made Harry nervous, it amazed him just how easily Malfoy had fit into their group. He still raised Ron’s hackles plenty, but it was much friendlier. Somehow their friendly banter brightened Grimmauld Place. It didn’t seem as dreary or such a mausoleum when they bickered. In fact, sometimes Harry heard the affection in their voices when they engaged in it. 

Ron sprawled into a chair. He balanced his teacup on his chest. “Has anyone stopped by Snape’s new shop yet?” 

Harry sucked back a gasp. He wasn’t ready to let any of them know that he was trying to attract the man. His frame tensed as he waited for someone to notice his sudden anxiety. When no one had, he said, his voice cracking, “No. No, why?”

He kicked himself for how high his voice got. 

“Didn’t it just open today?” Hermoine asked.

“This morning,” Malfoy said. “He had an owl order business before that. I bought some of the ingredients for Polyjuice from him. I suppose I’ll have to stop in later this week, you know, once the dust settles.” 

“I have an appointment with him tomorrow at 10 AM,” Ron said, swishing the tea in his cup. “He needs a ward maker to help set wards around his shop. I got assigned the case. I do this one and if I impress the old bat, maybe I can finally start my own business.” 

Harry’s hackles raised at hearing Severus described as an old bat. His hands clenched into tight fists and he ground his teeth hard. Heat flushed his cheeks. It was a childish insult. Harry bit back his retort. He couldn’t change Ron’s mind about Severus. He had given up a while ago. 

He didn’t like it, though.

Harry often accompanied Ron when he was on a lunch break. He could visit the shop in the guise of supporting Ron. The more he thought about it, the better it sounded. 

It was perfect!

“You are?” Harry asked, rubbing the back of his neck. He laughed, the sound a raspy squeak. “That’s _nice_.” 

“Yeah.” 

He asked, “What types of wards are you going to put up for Severus?” 

Ron’s face lit up at the question, a wide smile on his lips. He had gone to work for a private security company that specialized in wards. He thrived on the strategy it provided. Ron enjoyed building layered protections and traps that would befuddle any saboteur. 

He said, “Well, I’m planning on building a lot of layers, start with the magical signature detection, you know? Add in protections against anyone who might have any ill intent, that type of thing to start with. I’m looking at how I put in those protections to keep anyone from photographing your bakery, mate, and how I can apply the same to Snape’s shop. He probably likes being photographed less than you do, Harry.” 

Harry shook his head fondly at Ron’s enthusiasm. He had risked Ron going overboard in his explanation. It also helped keep the attention off him and his questions about Severus. 

“I will also add that layer about dark magic and curses. I know there’s some that still have it out for Snape.” Ron gulped his tea down. “Not sure why he can’t do it himself, to be honest. Snape’s a cranky git, but he’s a genius at this type of thing. Not sure why he’d need me.” 

Harry hid his surprise at hearing any praise for Severus from Ron.

“Maybe he’s heard of your latest ward creations and knows that they’d be the best for his shop,” Hermoine said. “It works brilliantly for the library. We have people ask about them, you know.” 

“Maybe, ‘Mione.” Ron frowned. He sighed, the puff of air fluttering his bangs. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I just hope he’s not a total arse when he realizes that it’s me.” 

“If you do your job well, I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Harry said weakly. “We’re not at Hogwarts anymore. He can’t give you detention.” 

“Snape’s still Snape,” Malfoy said. He sipped his tea, a smile quirking his lips. “I think his brand of sarcasm just ages like a fine wine. I have no doubt that he’ll be as caustic as ever—maybe more than ever because now he’s not confined by classroom decorum.” 

“Maybe,” Hermoine mused. Sympathy gleamed in the depths of her dark eyes. She sighed, “Must be lonely keeping everyone at arm’s length like that.” 

Severus wouldn’t have to do that forever. Not if Harry had anything to say about it. 

“Yeah,” Harry said sadly. He thought of how he, himself, kept everyone at bay. Even his closest friends, Ron and Hermoine, didn’t know or see everything that he kept secret. If anyone could understand the self-imposed solitude Severus Snape endured, it was Harry Potter. They truly were so much more alike than anyone knew. “It can be.” 

\--------------------------

After the meeting, Harry needed some air. He navigated the crowded sidewalk under his Invisibility Cloak. He wanted to get to Prince’s Bewitchin’ Brews to see how Severus’ first day had gone. 

Harry ducked in the doorway after a customer entered Severus’ shop. He made sure to leave the door ajar. He pulled the cloak tighter over himself to make sure he remained unseen. Harry snuck to a corner out of the way to watch Severus work. 

He wouldn’t stay long. He just wanted to drop off his latest treat and note, watch Severus for a moment and skulk back to his bakery before being discovered. He had much to bake for the morning rush after all. 

Severus stood tall and graceful before him. A contented expression softened his angular face. The first day must have been successful. Severus looked like the very king of his new domain. This should have been his shop all along. Despite knowing he had stalked the dungeons of Hogwarts for over twenty years, Harry couldn’t imagine this man anywhere else. This shop matched him as no space had ever done. It was a physical extension of Severus, an outward expression of him as a wizard and Potions Master. 

Severus swiftly diced an ingredient before gracefully scraping it into a cauldron. With long fingers, he gripped his stirring stick. He smoothly stirred his potion, his focus intense upon it. Summoning a jar wordlessly to his hand from one of the shelves, Severus sprinkled its contents into his cauldron with deft flicks of his wrist.

His hair cascaded over one shoulder, becoming blue-black under the candlelight. Absently, Severus brushed it back and away from his face. The silvery-white scars on his neck caught the soft candlelight, making them golden. To Harry, they remanded him of the Japanese technique of pouring gold into the cracks of broken pottery. Those scars were not flaws. They only enhanced the man before him. They displayed his grit, his tenacity, and his grace. 

Harry ached for this man. Seeing him so pleased and happy made warmth flood Harry’s heart. He was three feet away from Severus. He basked in the closeness, thrilled at the danger. Severus could easily brush up against him. His presence could be detected. Harry shivered at the challenge. He hadn’t taken such a risk since he had been at Hogwarts and his body hummed with excitement. 

Harry took a deep breath, inhaling the clean cedar scent. It reminded him of the man in front of him, strong, masculine, and earthy. The scent soothed him, calming his racing pulse. 

“Pardon the wait and welcome to Prince’s Bewitchin’ Brews,” Severus said, turning towards his customer. He inquired, his voice neutral and polite, “How may I assist you?”

Harry snorted, trying not to snicker at Severus’ customer service voice. It sounded odd coming from the acerbic man. He understood the polite and impersonal voice. He did it, too, with customers. It was the only way to handle most vexing customers. Still, Harry had expected Severus to behave as he had at Hogwarts, all pageantry and snarls. He expected the disdain, the judgment, and the scorn. 

It was weird to see Severus Snape be overtly nice. In some ways, Harry thought it was like sighting a beautiful and rare unicorn in the Forbidden Forest. He bit his lip, stifling a laugh. 

“Not at all,” the customer said airly. He was tall and blonde in his early thirties. He had a chiseled jaw. The man flashed Severus a smile, his teeth pristine white and perfectly straight. He wore elegant blue robes that made his blue eyes cerulean. He bore all the hallmarks of the conventionally handsome. He was everything Harry was not. “It was an honor to watch a master such as yourself work.”

Harry hated him. 

“Indeed.” Severus eyed his customer, an eyebrow arched. “Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“I need some Pepper-Up potion and a standard healing potion,” the obnoxiously beautiful customer said. He smiled again, the vapid expression reminding Harry of Lockhart. Pomposity surrounded him like a miasma. He probably thought this shop revolved around him. The man tilted his head and winked. “If it isn’t any trouble.” 

Severus nodded. He lifted a bottle from one shelf and summoned another from the corner not far from where Harry hid. Severus’ magic ghosted across Harry, making him shiver. It made his own rise, wanting to return the favor. Severus asked, “Anything else?”

“Yes,” Locktwat said, his voice oily. “I would like a Draught of Peace, Master Snape.” 

Harry’s eyes narrowed as the man stepped closer. Jealously bubbled in his gut, making acid churn. Who was this Locktwat loser to presume to flirt shamelessly with Severus so? Why couldn’t he be this close to Severus without having to hide? 

The Potions Master pursed his lips and his eyes narrowed. He took a small step back. Harry thought that Locktwat stood too close to Severus, too. Had the man never heard of personal space? Severus took down the bottle, handing it to the man. He said coolly, “That will be fifteen galleons for all of them, please.”

“Certainly.” Locktwat flashed a toothy smile as he withdrew his money. The empty expression on his face made Harry cringe. The man crooned, “I hope to make this a regular stop.” 

“I’d be delighted,” Severus said sardonically. He took another large but discrete step back, putting a good distance between him and the flamboyant fool. 

The dark tone in his voice sent a jolt down Harry’s spine. Blood rushed south. A blush heated his cheeks as he squirmed to adjust his now too tight trousers. 

He had to get out of here. _Now_. 

Quickly, Harry slipped the note out of his pocket and onto the counter. He dashed on silent feet out the door. 

Harry wished he could have stayed to watch Severus find it. Harry yearned to watch his reaction to his deliberately daft note. Would he find it charming? Would it make him smile—or even laugh? Would Severus keep this one just like he had the first note? 

Harry hoped so.

He knew that he had stayed too long already. Harry could have easily been discovered by Severus. All it would take is making a sound, his Invisibility Cloak slipping off—or that uncanny sense Severus always seemed to have about Harry. He always seemed to know when Harry was around. Being found out would have ruined everything. 

Harry hoped that he’d like the raspberry shortbread petit four he left, too.

In the street, Harry fled to his shop.


	4. Chapter Four: Hot, Bothered, and All Frothed Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus wraps his day at the shop only to find another sweet treat waiting for him. 
> 
> The next day, he reads all the latest and hottest news --- all featuring a certain emerald-eyed Chosen One. 
> 
> Will it leave him all hot, bothered, and all frothed up?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All characters and Harry Potter belong to J. K. Rowling and Warner Brothers. No monies are being made from this fanfiction and no copyright infringements are intended.

**Chapter 4: Hot, Bothered, and All Frothed Up**

Severus took a satisfying deep breath as he shut the door on his shop, locking it. The first day had been far more successful than he could have ever imagined. The number of customers and sales he had made went beyond his wildest hopes. With a flick of his wrist, he turned the sign on the door from open to close. 

If it was going to be like this every day, Severus would be a happy man indeed.

His customers had asked for what they wanted, had taken his advice, and had left satisfied. They had been enthused by his knowledge of the art of potion making rather than being repulsed or bored. Those that had asked questions had listened raptly to his explanations as so few students ever had. One customer had spoken with him for twenty minutes in detail about the latest article in _Potions Quarterly_. It had been a spirited debate with both agreeing that the article wasn’t the last word on the improvements made on harvesting mandrakes. Severus hoped the old man would become a regular customer. 

This shop was his dream and they had not only shown it respect, but they had also loved it.

The only interaction that had left any bitter taste had been the last customer of the day. He had reminded Severus so much of Lockhart. His fawning had been ridiculous. His enthusiasm had the stench of insincerity. He wondered just what the man had really been after. He would have to keep an eye if this man returned. He might want something beyond his products. 

Nevertheless, it flattered Severus that someone had attempted to flirt with him. _Him_. The Greasy Git. The Dungeon Bat. The Most Reviled Headmaster. Someone flirted with him despite his scars and his sneers and his _personality_. It left him bemused. A small smile ghosted at his lips.

A cold chill ran down Severus’ spine, wiping that smile off his face. Surely this buffoon was not the mysterious person wooing him. Severus refused to suffer fools. He wasn’t sure he could take that. 

Oh yes, the man was beautiful and attractive. He was the type of man one had a dalliance with just once. Severus imagined that he would be sexy writhing underneath him. He probably made the most debauched moans. He probably submitted willingly. Yes, he could be _fun_. 

But it was all skin deep. 

This man would not be worth Severus’ time. He had no desire to cultivate a relationship with him. He also did not want to duck and dodge this Lockhart — no _Locktwat_ look alike — when he decided to break it off. Severus didn’t need the drama. He was far too old for that. 

Besides, Locktwat was most certainly not his type. 

Severus preferred small, short men, especially dark-haired ones. In his classroom, he had loathed cheek and attitude. In the bedroom, however, Severus loved the challenge of a fiery bottom. There was something so tempting about a big personality in such a small package. Most of all, Severus thrilled on making such a man submit to him completely. He loved how it felt to make them fall apart. Severus thrilled at seeing them tip over the edge while he pounded them relentlessly. 

So what if most of his fantasies lately starred a certain emerald-eyed temptation? 

Severus snarled and shook his head. Thinking like that would only lead to frustration. He palmed himself through his robes, disgusted that just thinking of the brat made him this hard. A man like him had no excuse for lusting after the Savior of the Wizarding World. No matter the hero status granted to him now, he knew better. Severus knew many still saw him as the Dungeons Bat or the worst Hogwarts Headmaster. What honors had been given could be so easily taken away. They would revile him if they suspected him of violating or corrupting the Golden Boy, Harry Potter. 

No, Severus should not pine, should not linger on such fantasies when they would be nothing more than castles in the air. It would not do to imagine Potter being a willing partner or a fiery bottom he could subdue. Severus was twice the brat’s age. They had too volatile a past. Severus was not attractive enough — and certainly not like his last customer had been. He could tick off so many more boxes as to why he was not right for the boy. It would only ever end in disaster besides. 

Stepping behind the counter, Severus withdrew a ledger. It would be best to distract himself by checking his sales. How much had he made on his first day? Had it been as successful as it felt? It had been busy. Customers had flitted in and out all day. Not all had made purchases, but those that had had purchased quite a bit. He’d have to check his stores over and make sure to replenish whichever ingredient seemed most popular. Some of his potions would need to be brewed again, too. It seemed that his Pepper Up and Calming Draught had been his biggest sellers today. 

A small slip of paper caught his eye. He picked it up, arching an eyebrow. It was another note. Did that mean the Lockhart clone really was his admirer after all? Who else could have left this here? 

Severus glanced around, making certain that he was indeed alone. He couldn’t wait until his wards were in place. He hated feeling vulnerable in his shop. While he may have been deemed a hero by the Wizarding World, Severus knew better than to trust on the goodwill of the people. They were far too fickle and there were still disgruntled Death Eaters out there, somewhere. He had to remain on guard until he knew those wards were there to truly protect him from anyone with ill intent. 

Severus brushed his fingers against the counter. He gasped softly as he spotted something. A small confection sat there. A raspberry petite four enticed him. Severus picked it up, sniffing the delicacy. The buttery shortbread scent curled off of it. The raspberry striped through a delicate yellow cake. A small raspberry topped it, resting on the royal icing, a rosy pink. It looked delectable and sinful. 

Ever cautious, Severus waved his wand over it. He figured that it was clean, but he would take no chances. Without knowing the person’s identity, how could he ever trust that their intentions were pure? He had to be sure this one was safe. No one would ever get the best of him, never again. Severus sighed in relief as the spell revealed nothing. No jinxes or hexes had baked into its crust. 

Popping it into his mouth, Severus groaned softly at the rich taste. This had had to come from Deathly Confections. The baker was no mere master. He was an _artist_. While he had been eager to please and excessively welcoming when Severus had visited this morning, he couldn’t deny the baker’s genius. The shortbread melted, rich and creamy. The raspberry paid a perfect compliment to it, the tartness just right. The yellowcake was airy and light, more a compliment than the star of the confection. There were no pesky seeds to make the raspberry filling gritty, either. That took dedication and consideration. The berry on top burst with juice and flavor. With his thumb, Severus found a small crumb at the corner of his mouth. He licked it, not wanting to waste even that. 

The only shortcoming was that there had not been more. 

Severus picked up the note and read it aloud, “The sweetest confection could never compare to your sweetest perfection.” He snorted, turning it over to see if he could spot a signature. There wasn’t one. It had also been written with a Quick-Quotes-Quill like the first one. Severus muttered dryly, “Well, that’s a dreadful line if I’ve ever read one.” 

Unlocking his box, Severus’ hand hesitated, the note clutched in his fingertips. He debated about saving it. Would it be worth keeping? Why should he? When had he become such a soppy hopeless romantic anyway? Severus squeezed his hand around it as he considered lighting it on fire. He slowly opened his palm, smoothing its wrinkled edges with a fingertip. It would burn quite well. Severus reread the ridiculous pickup line. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He slipped it inside with the other note. 

As he latched the box, Severus stiffened. That was the second baked good, too. What if Dudley the Baker was his secret admirer? He was a possibility. After all, he had been so earnest and friendly when so many Severus met were not — at least not to him. Could Dudley want to court him? If so, why him? Certainly, it couldn’t be just because of his loathsome fame? He didn’t know this baker. The baker had to be in his early twenties, the right age for him to have been one of Severus’ former students — not that he recognized or remembered every miscreant that he once had the misfortune of teaching. Severus thought he would have remembered someone with Dudley’s talents, however. Potions and baking had so much in common in their precision and delicate complexities. How else would Dudley know about him? 

Severus snorted, dismissing the outlandish notion. He recognized that his paranoia had concocted this far fetched notion. He was twice Dudley’s age. Surely the baker was only showing him such respect as a form of hero-worship. Severus muttered softly, “No. The bakery is three doors down. It’s probable that whoever sent this simply bought the other baked items.”

He just wasn’t certain which of the two might have given him either note: the Locktwat or Dudley the Baker. 

Severus knew which one he would prefer — not that he found either his type. 

More importantly, Severus would enjoy the baked treats every time he received them. It would be an insult to their baker not to do so. He wanted to savor their textures, analyze their flavors, take pleasure as they melted in his mouth, and indulge in the skill of such a master. Severus enjoyed recognizing the man’s talents. 

Today had been a great day with a sweet finish. 

\---------------------------

Severus had picked the paper up and stopped at Deathly Confections to acquire his tea and scone for breakfast. Dudley hadn’t been there this time. Part of him had been disappointed although he couldn’t understand why. He had loathed the man’s fawning. 

The clerk had served him promptly, getting him the exact tea and scone he wanted with the utmost professionalism. To Severus, it was rare to find such good customer service, especially in the food industry. They had done everything with a smile and with as much impersonal contact as possible —just the way Severus preferred it. 

Nevertheless, Severus fumed that the clerk wouldn’t let him pay. 

In retaliation, Severus had put the amount in the tip jar with a glare. He would do so every time they refused to let him pay.

Back at his shop, Severus unfolded the paper with a snap. He coughed as he misswallowed his tea. The alternative was to spit it out all over the Daily Prophet. The headline and accompanying photo was shocking, to say the least. 

The moving photograph showed Potter dancing with a different man. The man was tall and burly. He wore his hair cropped short, making his jaw all the more square. There was no ambiguity about Potter’s sexuality. It was on raw display. Potter ground back onto his partner, gyrating in erratic circular motions. At one point he bent forward, his eyes meeting the camera in a brazen display of seductive sensuality. A sexy smirk crossed his lips as he pushed back harder. The man behind him had a firm grip on Potter’s hips, his own thrusting to meet his offered ass. 

The headline proclaimed its shock at Potter’s behavior:

> CONFIDENT CHOSEN ONE GYRATES IN RAUNCHY DANCE AT SEEKERS AND BEATERS WITH NEW MAN. IS IT OVER WITH BEAU, DAVID?

Severus couldn’t tear his gaze away from Potter’s face. He looked sexy and powerful like this. Potter’s expression exuded confidence and sensuality. The longer Severus stared, the more details he spotted. At one point, Potter’s tongue peeked out as he moaned silently in the photo. Shudders overtook his frame as he gyrated back. His hands clenched his knees as the man behind him humped hard against his ass. At points, it shoved Potter back and forth like a rag doll. Sweat glistened on his forehead. He gripped Potter’s hips with force, his mouth open, and his expression one of ecstasy.

It was, by far, the most _erotic_ thing Severus had ever seen. 

The paper rustled as he grasped it in a tight fist. Potter’s wanton display also made jealousy burn in his heart. Severus wanted to be the man behind Potter. He wanted to make him moan like that. He wanted to be the one that the sexy Savior of the Wizarding World chose to grind against. It made bile churn in his gut to know that this man probably got to take Potter back to his place to bed him — and see what it looked like when he fell apart. 

Severus’ finger shook as he traced Potter’s face, a new wave of longing flooding him. The brute Potter danced with didn’t know the truth about the Boy Who Lived or the challenges he faced — not the way Severus did. Potter deserved someone who would give him more than just empty sex. 

Potter deserved someone who loved him as he truly was — not as an icon or hero — but as a beautifully flawed human being. In the whole of the Wizarding World, Severus mused that he may be the only person who knew the real person behind the famous facade. The War had revealed that to him. He still saw the emaciated and desperate boy when he had cast the Sword of Gryffindor for him to find, luring him in with his Doe. It was the first true glimpse he had gotten of the real Harry Potter beneath his own skewed opinion and the publicity that inevitably followed the boy. He saw the fragility, the despondency, and the sense of futility in Harry when their eyes had met just after Nagini’s brutal strike. No other had seen Potter that way — not even his perpetual shadows in Granger and Weasley. 

Most of all, Severus had recognized himself in Harry Potter. The sheer loneliness had exuded from him then and it radiated out now.   
How empty it must be to go from partner to partner this way? How unfulfilling? Severus imagined that it became an endless blur to Potter.   
The article, written by Rita Skeeter, was as sensational as Severus expected.

> Harry Potter, last seen out with his current beau, was captured on film at the club dancing evocatively with an unidentified man. Does this mean that it is over between David and the Chosen One? It is clear in this erotic display that Harry Potter may be moving on. The pair were seen leaving together and this writer has no doubt that they took their scandalous dance between the sheets. It should not take much to imagine and this paper will not waste ink on such behavior.

Severus clenched his teeth. He narrowed his eyes at the paper. He slapped a palm over Skeeter’s drivel. “And this is frontpage news? Who the sodding Savior of the Wizarding World chooses to shag? Of course, Potter must be in the limelight. How tedious.”

He glanced away, staring absentmindedly at a shelf. The jars, all different colors, and shapes made for a kaleidoscope. Their curves and edges blended into an abstract shape. Severus took a deep breath, focusing on them. He couldn’t let his temper or his jealousy rule him. It would taint the mood of his shop if he let it. Somehow he had to reign this unrequited lust in. After all, what possible chance did someone of his age and mileage have in attracting or keeping the likes of Potter? His frustration at seeing the boy’s youthful indiscretions paraded through the paper may be natural but remained unjustified. Any claim he had on Potter had disappeared the moment he had transferred his memories to him. 

He looked back down, the paper still taunting him. Potter drew Severus in again and he couldn’t help but stare at him. He had grown into such an attractive young man. His small frame exuded grace. His movements all had purpose. They dripped sexuality. His messy black hair framed his angular face. The baby fat had melted away to reveal a sharper visage. Potter’s eyes, captured here in black and white, spoke of an old soul, one that had endured much. 

Lily’s gaze had never worn this shadow of wariness. 

Lily’s gaze had never reflected Severus’ solemness. 

Turning the page with a loud snap, Severus scanned the rest of the news, finding it banal. Politics didn’t interest him now. The Ministry remained as inept and backward as ever. The stories about criminals bored him. The Daily Prophet remained as ludicrous as he remembered it. It was all style and no substance. They never went into depth on anything they reported and when they did they only embellished or outright lied. Severus often wondered how they managed to remain a publication. 

Perhaps he should subscribe to the Quibbler. Maybe they wouldn’t be as obsessed with Potter’s sex life. 

After all, Severus had no interest in him. None at all.

“Oh, come on,” Severus groused as he turned the page to see Potter yet again. It was as if the delectable boy was stalking him as he perused the news. 

This time he was doing something mundane. He was pictured in the grocers, a shopping cart heaping full of food to the brim. Severus rolled his eyes. The general public would eat something like this up, thrilled at a Potter Sighting in the wild. Why anyone cared that Harry Potter ate food or shopped for it himself was beyond Severus. Of course, he ate. Savior though he may be, Potter was still a human being and he needed food just like everyone else. He found the whole public obsession to be disturbing and disgusting. 

“So he bought food. So what. Why is this even news? It’s less important than who the brat shags,” Severus said, snorting. 

A caption read:

> CHOSEN ONE STOCKS UP ON FOOD RUN

Potter, in this picture, looked intent, a package of sausage in his hands. His brows crinkled as he examined it before putting it into the cart. His tongue peeked out as he licked his lips. There seemed to be a blase attitude about being photographed in the public setting.

Severus frowned. He found the expression on Potter’s face unusual. Usually, he looked uncomfortable or awkward, fully aware of being objectified — especially when doing something so mundane. Here, he did not care even though this shot had been taken up at close range. His expression seemed far too relaxed, too focused on his task and not on his surroundings. Potter always seemed skittish in his photos, expecting an ambush at every turn. Here, he didn’t notice those shopping around him or the stalker photographer who took this candid shot. 

Something was wrong with this photo. Severus just couldn’t put his finger on it. 

With a rustle of paper, Severus folded the Daily Prophet up, tucking it aside. He would learn the truth behind why Potter seemed so wrong in that photo. Somehow, someway he would get to the bottom of what Potter was hiding. It was second nature to him, an old habit he couldn’t seem to shake. Potter was hiding something. Severus hated it when he did that. It usually meant that the brat was going to get himself into trouble. Trouble that Severus would have to extract him from.

Again. 

For now, he had to prep for the ward maker to help him with his shop. He had to gather his notes. They listed what he needed to be done and why. He hoped whoever they sent would be able to meet his exacting standards. He needed someone with subtlety, grace, and a deep understanding of charm work and protections. Severus hadn’t spent all this time building up his business to see it become vulnerable to thieves or those seeking revenge for his part in the War — from either side. These wards needed to make his shop his sanctuary. Only the best ward maker would do. 

He could obsess over Harry Potter later. Or never. Whichever came first. 

Severus finished the last bite of his cranberry orange scone, relishing in its rich flavor. Its citrus flavor refreshed his palate. The nibs of cranberry burst with tartness. The scone wasn’t dried out or hard like so many others Severus had had in the past. Instead, its buttery base underlined all the other flavors, making them earthy. This was another of his favorites. He wondered if perhaps the Deathly Confections was tailoring its menu to him.

“Dudley the Baker must have the worst sort of crush on me,” Severus muttered. He patted his stomach, smoothing down his robes over it. “That might end up being a detriment to my waistline. Pity.”


	5. Chapter Five: Painting on the Glaze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry prepares to tag along with Ron to visit Prince's Bewitchin' Brews. He's anxious about the visit. What to wear, will Severus be pleased to see him, will the ginger biscuits he's baked be well received? He's worried about it all. 
> 
> Thankfully he has Kreacher to talk him through it.

Harry scrubbed his hands over his face, a puff of frustration escaping his lips. He stood before his wardrobe, his eyes narrowed. The clothes inside it mocked Harry. They were too Muggle, too worn, too formal, or too plain.

“Ron’s going to be here in half an hour,” Harry whined. “I need something to wear to visit Severus. Nothing I have is any good. I’m pants at fashion.”

Kreacher harrumphed, his spindly arms crossed across his tea towel. “Master Harry should wear what makes him comfortable.”

Shoving the robes on the rack to go through them once more, Harry sighed. “I need to impress Severus. I can’t go in something ratty.”

“Master Snape should already be impressed with Master Harry,” Kreacher muttered. 

He rejected his set of red robes. Too Gryffindor. He wouldn’t wear black. Too much like his Hogwarts uniform. Besides, Harry wanted to contrast the man, not match him. He avoided the richest fabrics as too formal. Harry stopped on a blue robe and an emerald green robe.

These two had promise.

Harry slipped them out of the closet, holding each one against himself as he looked in the mirror. He kept switching them, unable to decide. 

“I wish Malfoy was here. He always knows what to pick,” Harry lamented. “Which one would he pick, Kreacher?”

“Green, Master Harry,” Kreacher said, chuckling. “Master Draco would pick the green.” 

“That’s because Master Draco is a Slytherin, Kreacher,” Harry quipped. He held the green up again, noticing that his eyes deepened in color the longer he stared at his reflection. He nodded decisively. “Green it is.” 

Besides, Severus was a Slytherin, too.

Harry slipped out of his jeans and Muggle t-shirt — a worn rock t-shirt that had once belonged to Sirius. It had a large red tongue splashed across it. Harry kicked the clothing aside. He pulled the robe over his head, tugging it into place. Harry smoothed a hand over it, eyeing himself critically. 

Unlike the green robe from his fourth year, this one fit better. It wasn’t too long and Harry didn’t look as if he was swimming in its rich fabric. There was silver piping on its edging. It had a hood, one Harry would use to avoid people swarming him. He ran a finger over the breast where a small Potter crest was stitched into it. He had only worn it once, to a Ministry Christmas party the first year after the War. 

The robe was probably too formal, but it was the only one that didn’t make Harry feel like a slob.

Somehow, Harry looked taller in them. 

Harry ran his fingers through his hair, wondering if there was anything he should do about it. He picked up a comb, tugging it through his untidy mane. Each pull made Harry jolt. He hopped a little each time he slid it through his hair. Instead of it looking neater, It somehow looked more like a rat’s nest. Harry ran his fingers through it, accepting that it would always look like the world’s worst bedhead. His hair was a hopeless cause. 

Harry adjusted his glasses. He leaned in, examining his face again. He hated the dark shadows. He hated the gauntness. A haunted gaze stared back at him, pleading for relief. He turned his head, startled by the angularity in his face. Hollow cheeks defined his face. His complexion turned ashen and pale. He hated how his exhaustion etched across his face. A frown chiseled lines around his mouth. Harry turned his head from side to side, finding no angle made him look any better. He loathed the defeated expression on his weary face. 

Sleep had been elusive the night before. What little he had gotten had been overrun with nightmares. Harry had relived the night that Sirius had died. He shuddered at how it had altered. It had shifted, then. First Ron then Hermoine then the rest of the Weasleys then Malfoy and finally Severus all had fallen through the mirror, lost forever to the Veil. Anyone and everyone he had ever cared about had perished in a succession, all while Harry had stood powerless to stop it. 

And then Harry had died at Voldemort’s hands. Again.

This time he hadn’t resurrected. He had been forced to watch, trapped in some awful purgatory, as Voldemort tortured and killed everyone that was left. 

Sometimes Harry wondered if that wasn’t what had really happened. Perhaps this reality was only an illusion so to keep him from tumbling into sheer madness. He would hold onto it for dear life for as long as it lasted. 

Harry would have to apply his glamour extra careful today. He wore one every day, to keep everyone from asking too many questions. Harry didn’t want everyone to worry about him. He also couldn’t see Severus this way.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and took a few deep breaths. When he opened them, Harry wandlessly cast the glamour over himself. His face became fuller. Color flooded his face, his skin bronzing as if he’d been in the sun. His scar became darker, etching its way across his forehead and across his eye. Harry had hated his scar, but now it was something he shared with Severus. He rubbed a finger across it, the raised skin smooth to the touch. Were Severus’ scars raised, too? The dark shadows under his eyes faded. Harry brushed a hand over his chin. A small bit of stubble tickled his fingertips. A faint shadow ghosted across his face. Harry thought it made him look older, less like a little schoolboy. He adjusted his glasses on his nose. He sighed in satisfaction. Harry looked presentable. 

“Master Harry, yous should stay home and rest,” Kreacher croaked in alarm. He stepped closer, his big eyes searching Harry’s face. “Yous didn’t sleep and Kreacher knows yous don’t feel good.” 

“I’m not tired,” Harry replied, his tone weary. He scrubbed a hand over his face. He yawned. “I couldn’t sleep right now.”

“Yous won’t fool Master Snape with that glamour,” Kreacher admonished. 

Kreacher was right. Severus always saw through everything. Even so, Harry wouldn’t go unless he could hide behind it. Someday he could reveal his true self. Someday he’d be able to face it. Not today. 

Harry picked up a small package. He opened it, finding a half dozen gingerbread biscuits. They were in the shapes of the Deathly Hallows, snitches, cauldrons, and the Slytherin crest. Harry took a deep breath, inhaling their spiciness. He admired the shapes and imprints, proud that he had taken the time to make them distinct. These symbols meant so much to him. He included the Deathly Hallows because it marked his triumph in the battle, not just because it symbolized his shop. He picked snitches and cauldrons to represent himself and Severus, the two symbols that marked their time at Hogwarts. He picked the Slytherin crest but not the Gryffindor crest because this was for Severus. Harry knew that the man had hated teaching but had such pride in his House. He hoped that the man would recognize this gift for the gesture it was. 

Harry wanted to say thank you. He wanted Severus to know that he appreciated him. He hoped that Severus would love them. 

He had spent all night before baking them — after he had woken from his nightmares, of course. That happened at least twice a week. Only baking soothed him, allowed him to take back control, and kept his mind and hands occupied enough. If he tried to stay in bed, shake off the nightmares and try to go back to sleep it only made his anxiety spike. Harry had to do something. So he baked and baked and baked. 

Harry had ditched two batches to the shop window for not being good enough for Severus. These would be the first baked goods that he gave Severus directly. Harry wanted them to be perfect. Harry had to impress the exacting man. Even if Severus had no idea that he was the baker, this would be the first time he could witness him eating one of his baked creations out in the open. Harry needed to offer his very best. The batch that came out of the oven at 4:30 that morning had made him sob with relief and pride. This batch would impress Severus. It was worthy of him and Harry couldn’t wait to give them to him. 

Kreacher shook his head and sighed. He glanced at the box. Kreacher praised, “Master Harry always makes the best gingerbread biscuits. All the customers say so.”

“No, they don’t,” Harry refuted. He snorted. “They all say that Dudley does. He gets a laugh out of it. I don’t think Dudley’s ever baked anything ever. Certainly not when we were growing up.”

He pursed his lips, thinking about his cousin. He wanted Dudley to visit again soon. Maybe he should send an owl after visiting Prince’s Bewitchin’ Brews. He hadn’t seen him in a while. What had it been? A month? That was way too long. 

“Master Dudley don’t bake, Master Harry,” Kreacher said, a smirk on his weathered face. His large ears trembled as he laughed. “He says yous bake best. Yous bake, he tastes. Isn’t that what he says?” 

“Something like that.” Harry chuckled. “Perhaps I will invite him to visit soon, yeah? Let him taste some of our latest recipes, that one we’re creating for George. He’s always wanting more magic in my bakes anyway. Let’s give it to him.” 

“Please do, Master Harry. Wes not seen Master Dudley in awhile. He be surprised by them cookies yous want to make for Master George. Is going to be a big hit.”

Dudley had confessed that he had liked Harry’s baking more than his mother’s. He always had.

Aunt Petunia would have had kittens if she knew.

The door to Grimmauld Place opened and shut with a crash.

“Harry? You here?” 

“WHO DARE ENTER THE HOUSE OF THE ANCIENT AND NOBLE HOUSE OF BLACK!” Walburga’s shrieks penetrated to the rafters. “A BLOOD TRAITOR! HOW DARE YOU! YOU AREN’T WELCOME HERE! GET OUT! YOUR KIND DON’T BELONG HERE! WE WILL PURGE YOUR KIND FROM WIZARDING KIND!”

“Stuff a fucking sock in it already,” Ron groused, his voice floating up the stairs. “No one cares what a barmy portrait thinks anymore. Your bloody side lost. Get over it, you waste of paint. I’d love to set you on fire, you know that?”

“GET OUT, YOU FILTHY BLOOD TRAITOR! GET OUT! HOW DARE YOU! HOW DARE YOU INSULT ME IN MY OWN HOME! BLOOD TRAITOR!” 

“Piss off, already!” Ron’s footsteps trudged up the stairs. “Harry? Where are you?”

“In here!” Harry called back.

“Why haven’t you burned that bloody portrait yet?” Ron asked from the hallway. He opened the door, stopping in his tracks. Ron blinked before his eyes scanned Harry. “You’re dressed awful fancy to visit the ol’ Dungeon bat, don’t you think?” 

“I’ve told you not to call him that, Ron,” Harry admonished, adjusting his collar. “Be civil to Severus today. He’s worked hard for this shop.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ron huffed. He shook his head. Ron gestured at Harry’s robes. “It still doesn’t explain why you’re all dressed up. You got a date or something? Who’s the lucky bloke?”

“No!” A rush of heat flooded Harry’s cheeks. He shook his head vigorously and held his hands up. Harry knew he should have put on the black robes instead. He protested, a waver in his voice, “No! I just have an appointment afterward. That’s all.”

Ron eyed him skeptically. “If you say so, mate.” 

“Let’s go. It’s best not to keep Severus waiting.”

“You got that right.” 

“Kreacher be seeing you at the bakery later, Master Harry.” Kreacher bowed his head towards Harry. “He’ll make sure it is in running order.” 

“Thank you, Kreacher. Thank you for being the best partner and always looking out for me.” Harry patted the House Elf on the shoulder. “Tell Anna to make sure all of the cases are deep cleaned tonight. And please make a few batches of Bath buns. And the scones, you know which ones.”

“Yes, Master Harry.” Kreacher winked at Harry. He bowed low, his ears flapping. He repeated the gesture towards Ron. A smile crossed his wizened face. “Is good seeing you, Master Ron.” Kreacher popped out of the room with a crack.

Harry and Ron made their way down the stairs. They passed the still screaming portrait. Ron flipped dual middle fingers at it, only making her howl all the louder. Harry chuckled, knowing that his best friend and that portrait would always be at odds. He still hadn’t figured out how to remove it from the wall. Harry probably never would. In some ways, it belonged to the house as much as the house had once belonged to her. 

They exited into the street. The noise bombarded Harry, making him stagger. Cars honked. People shouted at one another. Music blared from cars and houses, echoing in ricochets off the buildings. The smell overwhelmed him, dirty and acrid. Petrol permeated the air, so strong Harry could taste its bitterness on his tongue. Lights winked from vehicles. In the distance, sirens blared, their blue and red lights flashing. The Wizarding World did not have this industrial stench. Harry may have found Grimmauld Place melancholy and stuffy, but he preferred its relative quiet to the cacophony of the London streets.

Harry wished they could have flooed to his bakery and walked from there. He just couldn’t bring himself to skulk through the streets of Diagon Alley under his Invisibility Cloak. Ron had a reason to visit Severus’ shop. He had no reason at all to hide. Harry also didn’t want to remind Severus that he had the Cloak. It could blow his cover. It might also incense the man. Or remind Severus how Harry used to sneak around Hogwarts against better judgment. 

They entered a dark alley and Apparated out of sight of Muggles. This form of travel still always made Harry a bit queasy. He staggered next to Ron. They had arrived just outside of Diagon Alley. The pair stepped out of the alley and up to the familiar brick wall. Ron tapped it with his wand. The bricks slid apart to reveal the Wizarding district. In the shadows, Harry caught the gleam of Severus’ storefront. 

Harry balked just outside the alleyway. He couldn’t do this. Harry was the last person Severus wanted to see. The man had made it clear his entire school career just what he had thought of Harry. What had he been thinking when he had decided to tag along with Ron? This had to be one of the worst ideas he had ever had. How could he go there so out in the open? What if Severus figured it out? What if Harry blurted something out about the gifts, the bakery, his true feelings for Severus? 

_Mistake._ The word pounded through his head, whispering in that silky voice Harry so cherished. _Mistake, Potter._

Harry’s palms sweated and he clenched his hands tight. He bit his lip. His heartbeat thumped in his ears. A band cinched around his chest. Harry gulped in air, finding it hard to breathe. The stench of Muggle London overwhelmed him, petrol and trash and industrialization. Harry’s knees buckled and he wobbled on his feet. He shivered as what felt like the equivalent of the coldest bucket of water cascaded down his back. The warmth of tears trailed down his cheeks. Harry’s vision dimmed until the world had blurry blackened edges. 

He’d be rejected the moment he walked in the door. Severus would take one look at him and snarl that Harry wasn’t welcome in his shop. He might even put up a sign that reads “No shirt, no shoes, no Harry Potter”. Severus might tell him in no uncertain terms just what he thinks about Harry — and none of it flattering. He could hex him. Severus would tell him to leave and to never ever return. 

Harry’s heart would shatter if that happened. 

“Harry?” Ron called, his voice faint. His blurred face wore an anxious expression. A strange halo circled his head. Ron’s eyes widened, scanning Harry’s face. He said gently, “Hey. Hey, mate, we don’t have to visit him. I can do this alone. Why don’t you just go to the bakery and I’ll tell you about it later?”

Harry took a deep breath through his nose and held it for a count of four. He released it slowly and did it again three more times. The thunder of his own heartbeat receded. The ice in his veins started to fade. The tight band around his chest loosened. The grey around his vision cleared, widening from a narrow tunnel. His head didn’t feel like it would fall off his shoulders. Harry shook it, waving off Ron’s gentle squeeze of the shoulder. 

“I’m good. I want to do this.” Harry smiled wanly at Ron. “I’m fine. You need someone to be the punching bag for Severus’ worst sarcasm. I’m used to it and I’m his favorite one. You just be brilliant and impress him. I know you will.” 

“Get out of the way!” Angry voices shouted much too loudly nearby. “You’re blocking the bloody sidewalk. Twats!” 

Hands on his shoulders herded Harry towards the wall. He leaned against the cool stone, taking in some more deep breaths. He mused that the bricks had closed, hiding Diagon Alley from view once more. Harry hadn’t realized that they had a time limit before. Those hands rubbed gentle circles into his shoulders. Harry glanced over his shoulder, spotting Ron standing protectively between him and a pair of pissed off Muggles. They looked ready to spoil for a fight. Harry groaned inwardly knowing that they had picked the wrong wizard to fight. Ron would just as easily best them in a fistfight than risk breaking the Statute of Secrecy with magic. They didn’t have time for that.

Ron puffed up, making his already tall frame bigger. Harry spotted his wand peeking in his sleeve. He clenched a fist at his side. He glared at them, his eyes narrowed. “Piss off! Go around, you fucking pillocks.” 

“Where the fuck did you two even come from? I think the bloody Renaissance festival called. They want their costumes back, you wankers,” the taller Muggle male taunted. “It looks like the one in green has lost the plot. He’s a total nutter.” 

“They’re both barmy,” the other teen said, snickering. “A padded cell at the nuthouse is waiting for you two! They both need to be sedated.”

“You utter tossers! Bloody Muggles!” Ron snarled back, shaking a fist at them. “Piss the fuck off already!” 

The two teen-aged Muggles glared at Ron, hesitating. They sized him up, trying to decide if engaging in a fight with him was worth it or not. Ron took a step forward and they took a step back. With that, they fled back down the dark alley. 

“Bloody hell. What a couple of prats,” Ron muttered to himself. He brushed his hands together. He gave Harry’s shoulder another squeeze. “Seems we must have apparated near those prick’s hideout, yeah?” He frowned in concern. “You look a bit pale, mate. You sure you want to go see Snape with me? You don’t have to, you know. I can handle him.” 

“I’m sure,” Harry replied, giving him a small smile. He scrambled to put his glamours back up, knowing they must have cracked a bit during his panic attack. Harry also couldn’t tell Ron that he feared having his heartbroken. Best friend that he may be, Harry knew that Ron wouldn’t understand. He chuckled and shrugged. “Besides, I’m curious to see if Malfoy’s right. Has his sarcasm really aged like a fine wine?”

“If you say so.” Ron shrugged. A bemused smile crossed his face and he shook his head. “You’re the only person I know who actually seems to like being insulted by him. You know that’s kinda barmy, right?” 

“You should be used to me being barmy by now. Besides, you could always put me into Bedlam, yeah?” Harry replied, tugging his hood up. He made sure it obscured his face. Harry had no desire to be accosted at every turn. He shook himself and squared his shoulders. “We better hurry or we’ll be late. Severus hates when people are late.”

Ron blinked at him. “Wait. What’s Bedlam, mate?”


	6. Chapter Six: Always the Spice of Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus has a meeting with the ward company. They send him Ron Weasley --- who comes with a friend. None other than Harry Potter. Just what secrets is Potter hiding? And why has he brought the Potions Master his favorite biscuit?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All characters and Harry Potter belong to J. K. Rowling and Warner Brothers. No monies are being made from this fanfiction and no copyright infringements are intended.

The door on his shop opened at five after ten. 

Severus stated coldly, “You’re late.” 

He glanced up from his ledger. He assessed the representative from the ward-making company. Their outfit had the company insignia of two wands crossed and a circle encompassing them. A sneer curled Severus’ lip as he saw the shock of red hair that went with it. They had sent him Ron Weasley of all people. He wanted the best. Instead, he had the misfortune of being sent this cretin.

Wonderful.

Following him was another in an emerald green robe, a hood shadowing their face. The petite figure stood in contrast to Weasley’s stout and tall frame. They made an odd pair in the front of his shop. A small crest emblazoned the figure’s breast. They clutched a tea from the Deathly Confections in one hand and a small tin in the other. 

If they were with Weasley this could only be one person.

Potter.

“No food or drink allowed,” Severus barked. He paused a moment, glaring at the insolent brat. “Potter.”

The figure drew down the hood, revealing a beaming Harry Potter. Mirth quirked his lips. His face lit up. Delight danced in his eyes, making their verdant depths darken. Those eyes met his own, a mysterious hunger flickering in them. 

Severus swallowed back his surprise at the joy on the young man’s face. Was Harry Potter truly happy to see him? Him? Severus Snape? It couldn’t be.

“Hello, sir,” Potter said softly. The honorific was spoken reverently, like a prayer. “How are you?”

Severus’ eyes narrowed. “Potter, I hate to repeat myself. There’s no food or drink allowed here.”

“Oh!” Potter ducked his head, blushing.

“Indeed.”

Severus took a few breaths to temper the flare of arousal that surged through him at the soft flush on Potter’s handsome face. 

“You’ll need to discard it or leave.”

“Oh!” Potter said again, panic flashing across his face. He held up the tea and the tin. “It’s not for me. It’s for you, sir.” 

Awkwardly, Potter thrust the tea and tin at Severus, his head bowed. 

“The baker, Dudley, said you liked this tea. I thought it’d be a nice peace offering.” Potter shrugged, a coy expression crossing his face. “You know, for me being here while Ron helps you.”

Severus eyed the offered drink and glanced up into Potter’s eyes. Hope flared in their vulnerable depths. A tiny smile crossed Potter’s face. He bit his lip, the tip of his tongue peeking out. The young man looked scrumptious.

Severus sighed exasperatedly and took the tea and tin. He grunted, “Very well. Just this once, Potter.”

He set them both on the counter next to his elbow.

Dudley officially had a terrible crush on him. To use Potter to get to him, though? Severus wasn’t sure how he felt about that. 

“Sir, I have some plans for the wards,” Weasley said, his tone bemused. He glanced between Potter and Severus, a crinkle in his brow as if he struggled to figure out the last pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. “I thought we’d start talking about the foundational ones today.”

Severus tore his gaze from Potter to focus on what Weasley said. He sipped absently at the tea. “And those would be, Weasley?”

“I always start with the alarm wards and wards that identify magical signatures with ill intent,” Weasley said. “If you try to put all of the wards you want on at once, you either lock yourself in or yourself out. It has to be done in installments. The magic has to have time to adjust, too.”

Severus arched an eyebrow. Weasley seemed to actually know what he was talking about. He also seemed rather passionate about it. What he proposed thus far made sense.

“Go on.”

“Well, sir, most wards we envision resemble those for a residence. Wards meant to protect a home do not work for businesses,” Weasley explained. A smile curled his lips. “You want customers so your wards can’t be as discriminating. It wouldn’t do to ward the place and keep everyone out. Most private wards go too far, only allow select people. Business wards need to be strong, but can’t block the public. With subtle tweaks, you’ll have protection.”

Severus nodded, demonstrating that he was listening. His eyes, however, tracked Potter as he window shopped. From having the insolent brat in his class, Severus knew that he couldn’t possibly appreciate the wares he saw. That didn’t mean that Severus didn’t appreciate what he saw, however. Potter bent over by a display, his robe accentuating the curve of his ass. Severus could imagine Potter bent over in another setting with less clothing. A lot less clothing. 

He flicked his gaze to Weasley. Best not to follow that thought. 

Weasley had a scroll unrolled on the counter. “My proposal spells out what I recommend for your shop, sir. Alarm spells and a ward against those with ill intent first. The whole point of it is to build layers that weave together. Wards work best when blended this way. Too many wards at once only make a mess of things.”

Severus pursed his lips, glancing over the other plans. They had charms to alert him to stealing, to protect his products from damage, and wards set to the time of day. When he left for the day, one ward would lock his shop from anyone who wished to enter. Only his magical signature would open it. All of these would be helpful. They would give him peace of mind that his shop would be protected. He hadn’t worked this hard only to see someone destroy his dream. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Potter caught a bottle before it could fall to the floor.

“Potter!” Severus barked. “Unless you plan on buying anything, don’t touch!” 

Potter jolted and ducked his head. A rosy blush darkened his cheeks. He stammered, “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

Sir. He kept saying that word. It unnerved him.

It also made Severus hard. Painfully so.

Potter took his place next to Weasley. He stood like a chastised child, head bowed and his hands clasped behind his back. The green robe he wore flowed around him. The pose made him appear penitent. Potter glanced up, his eyes deepening to a rich forest green. A fragile smile upturned his lips. He whispered, “Again, sorry, sir. I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

“Explain the ward that prevents damaged product, please,” Severus said through clenched teeth. 

He leaned back on the counter, shifting his hips to readjust himself. He was grateful to be wearing robes. They hid his erection well. To calm himself, Severus sipped his tea, focusing on the rich flavor flooding his mouth. Anything to distract himself from Harry Potter in that beautiful green robe — or his propensity to call Severus “sir” so damn much. His hand twitched around the cup, aching to bury his fingers in Potter’s messy hair. The boy was so deliciously distracting. 

“Simple. By adopting a strengthening charm and combining it with a repairing charm, this ward when applied allows for your merchandise to remain unharmed if a customer should drop something or smash intentionally any bottles.” Weasley’s face lit up and his gestures punctuated his words. “I developed the charm after six months of trial and error. The Library uses it to protect their manuscripts from damage. It works well on their brittle pages. It should work here.”

Severus’ eyebrows shot up, impressed. Weasley had been such an average student. Listening to him now, he exuded brilliance and confidence in his field. Severus asked, “It stops all damage?”

“Yes. In a Potions shop, I might have to modify it so if someone tries to mix things that don’t mix well it should prevent the reaction or mitigate its effects as quickly as possible.”

“Interesting.” 

While Severus was impressed, he would not tell Weasley so. He did not want to puff up the young man’s ego. He needed to be certain that Weasley wasn’t all talk, too. What sounded good might not work in reality, after all. 

“You can’t be at all areas of the store. Unlike Hogwarts, you don’t have the luxury of an infirmary on site. You’ll want a way to stop mischief — not that you need help with that, sir,” Weasley said, a rueful smile crossing his lips. “You can blame my knack for how to do this on my brothers. Countering a lot of WWW products has pushed my ward building in directions no one else thinks to try.”

“I can only imagine so,” Severus drawled. 

He shuddered at the memory of those twin terrors that had been Fred and George Weasley. Severus’ heart clenched at the loss of one of them. As unruly as they had been, he knew them to be brilliant students of Potions and that many of their products relied on the art. He would never tell George that, however. That opinion he would take to the grave. 

“Ron’s done such a good job at my bay—,” Potter began only to clamp his mouth shut. He coughed to cover the pause. Severus narrowed his eyes, wondering what he was about to say. Potter said, his eyes darting around the shop, “He’s done such a good job at Grimmauld Place.”

Severus frowned. He knew that Potter had meant to say something else. Why would he pause that way? Why did he say what sounded like bakery before switching to the former Headquarters of the Order — which probably didn’t need more wards anyways? If any place in Wizarding Britain was protected, it’d be Grimmauld Place. Not even the Ministry had as many layers of warding and traps waiting for anyone the house deemed unworthy or unlawful. And that was even without the embellishments that Moody had added after Severus had dispatched Albus Dumbledore. Grimmauld Place did not need any more wards. 

What was Potter hiding this time?

Potter tapped his fingers on the counter in a staccato rhythm. His fingers nudged the silver tin towards Severus. Etched on top was the Deathly Hallows symbol. In fine script underneath it read Deathly Confections. 

Severus sneered down at it before leveling his glare on Potter. The brat had his head bowed. Potter bit his lip, his pearly white teeth peeking out. He hunched his shoulders, shrinking in upon himself. It didn’t seem possible, but Potter seemed smaller than he already was.

Potter took a deep breath. He implored, “Sir, try a gingerbread biscuit.” 

It was clearly a diversionary tactic. That confirmed it. Potter, as usual, was hiding something.

Severus’ eyes narrowed then widened when Potter lifted his head. Underneath the healthy glow and the full face, the Potions Master caught a glimpse of dark shadow under the eyes. They spoke of sleepless nights. Potter’s cheeks sunk in as if he didn’t eat quite enough. It made his face sharper. His pallor appeared more ashen than golden. A haunted gleam flickered in the depths of his emerald gaze. His already too small frame became bony and thin. 

Harry Potter was wearing an elaborate glamour.

Severus flicked his gaze to Weasley. Did he notice any of this about his best friend? Was he looking out for the brat? Did anyone know how haggard and tired he was? When had he last slept? When had Potter last ate? Was anyone looking after him at all? 

As his gaze returned to Potter, the glamours shimmered back into place. Potter looked healthy, happy, well-rested, and well-fed. His cheeks rounded out. His face softened. His eyes, still somber as ever, blazed with life. A shy smile lit up his face. Once more, Potter looked like a delectable young temptation. 

“Sir?” Potter offered the tin again. He opened it to reveal the delectable treats. “Biscuit?” 

Severus eyed the biscuits. He hesitated. His hand hovered over them. He lifted his eyes, meeting Potter’s hopeful ones. Severus waved a hand at the tin and said, silkily, “Only if you have one as well, Potter.”

Potter chuckled. “They’re not poisoned, sir. I promise.” 

That word again. Hearing it spoken with such reverence made his spine tingle — and his cock twitch. Severus fought the urge to shudder in pleasure. He loved how it rolled off of Potter’s tongue. He wanted to hear what other things Potter could say with that delectable tongue. What other talents did it possess? 

It also frightened him. 

To distract himself, Severus selected a gingerbread biscuit shaped like the crest of Slytherin House. A tiny smile curled his lips. He sneered, “How touching.” 

A warmth spread through him as Severus traced the imprint of the snake and the name Slytherin etched into it. He may no longer be the Head of Slytherin House or the Potions Master of Hogwarts, but Severus would always hold a fondness for his House. It had been where he had learned magic, found refuge and called home for so long. He may have loathed teaching, but he had loved being a Slytherin. A wave of nostalgia washed over him. Shaking his head, he dispelled the wistful feeling. 

With slender fingers, Potter selected a biscuit shaped like a Golden Snitch. 

Of course, he had.

Weasley sat silently, watching their exchange with a bewildered expression on his face. His eyes flickered between them as if he was watching a vicious duel rather than a biscuit exchange. His brow crinkled. Weasley sat this way for a few minutes before shrugging. “Anyway, if we could return to the wards, sir. I propose that we add in wards that allow you to know the magical signature of anyone who tries to break in or damage the store. If something like that should happen, you’d have a better chance of knowing who to turn in.” 

“Excellent, Weasley,” Severus replied absently.

Severus nibbled on the biscuit. Its spices released in his mouth, earthy and rich. The biscuit had a nice snap to it. Its sweetness was a nice undertone to the ginger, cinnamon, and cloves. Severus delighted at the hint of nutmeg. The spices didn’t overpower or overwhelm. 

He turned towards Weasley and asked, “When will you start the process?” 

“Would tomorrow morning same time work for you, sir?” Weasley replied. “I want to spend the rest of our time looking over your shop if I may. It helps to know the layout well.”

“Of course,” Severus replied. He pointed at a door behind the sales counter. “Storage is through there.” Severus narrowed his gaze at the redhead. He said, his voice dangerously quiet, “If any item should be damaged or go missing, Weasley, I will know.”

“Understood, sir.” Weasley stood, walking around the perimeter of the shop.

This left Severus alone with Potter. 

Potter nibbled at his own biscuit. He had only snapped off the snitch’s left-wing. His eyes roamed the shop. As they landed on Severus, a lovely rosy blush coated his cheeks. He looked down, his mop of black hair obscuring his eyes. Severus couldn’t help but stare at his mouth, coated in crumbs. A small half-smile upturned his lips. 

Severus ached to kiss those crumbs off of Potter’s luscious lips.

Softly, Potter asked, “What do you think of the spices, sir? The two varieties of cinnamon blend well together. The anise, cloves, and nutmeg compliment them well, too. I prefer a gingerbread that has more than just cinnamon and ginger myself. More spices, in the right proportions, give it such a depth of flavor. Otherwise, it’s just a ginger biscuit and not a true gingerbread.”

Zest filled his words as if he thought about spice blends often. 

Severus arched an eyebrow. Potter was such an enigma. He snapped off another portion of his Slytherin biscuit. He chewed slowly. It struck him that Potter, so inept at Potions, had even noticed that there were two kinds of cinnamon baked into it.

“They do,” Severus replied coolly.

“I like the snap. Too many gingerbreads are too soft. No bite.” Potter snapped the right-wing off, nibbling on it. Crumbs clung to the corners of his mouth. His pink tongue darted out, licking at them. He lifted his eyes, a nervous glint in them. “How about you, sir?” 

Severus pursed his lips in thought. Perhaps Dudley and Potter were close friends. Why else would he ask such questions? These were the questions of a baker seeking approval for their skill. Most people didn’t dissect their bakery purchases this way. Potter didn’t bake these; he must be asking on Dudley’s behalf. 

Severus finished his biscuit, savoring the delectable flavor. It was perfect on its own. Each bite burst with a new spice. Nutmeg. Anise. Cinnamon. Cloves. Severus chewed slowly to let the warmth of the spices linger. As he took a swig of tea, he mused that they complemented one another well. The richness of the tea only enhanced the spices. 

Severus truly loved that bakery.

“It would be most perfect for dunking in tea.” 

“Yes!” Potter exclaimed, his face animated. He gestured with his biscuit, waving it in the air to punctuate each word. “The biscuit would sponge up the tea and melt in your mouth. And it's baked enough that it wouldn’t just crumble into it, sir.”

“If I didn’t know any better, Potter, I’d suspect you of baking these,” Severus said nonchalantly. He leaned forward, closer to Potter. Their eyes met. Severus purred, “But I do know better. I graded your potions so I know you couldn’t have.”

“Me?” Potter asked, his voice cracking. His eyes went wide. A brief flicker of panic flashed over his face. “I’m pants at baking, sir.” 

A strangled sound emitted from Weasley. He nearly knocked a display over, his hands catching it. Bottles clinked as the rocking shelves swayed. Weasley blushed a deep scarlet to match the flame-red locks on his head. With shaking hands, he straightened them only to make them nearly tip and spill anyways. Once they stopped swaying, Weasley stepped back, sighing in relief.

Weasley whispered, “Blimey, that was close.” 

Potter, meanwhile, had paled, his eyes wide. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth. Potter fidgeted a bit, his shoulders hunched. Severus narrowed his eyes at the nervous behavior. In their Hogwarts days, he would have suspected the two of them being up to something. Potter straightened as soon as his eyes met Severus’. He smiled wanly at him. “All’s well, sir. No harm, no foul. Just be glad it was Ron who bumped that display. We both know that if I had, we’d be covered in potions and broken glass.” 

“Indeed.” Severus knew better. Potter may have been many things at Hogwarts, but clumsy was not one of them. Not with that Seeker grace. 

Weasley coughed to clear his throat. He exchanged a glance with Potter, his hands up in supplication as if imploring for permission — for what, Severus did not know. Severus did not entirely understand the relationship Potter and Weasley shared and he certainly did not understand their silent communications. Only because of his spying did Severus realize that there was far more to this exchange than met the eye. He flicked his gaze to Potter, catching a minute wave of his hand. Weasley must have been denied because he snorted in frustration. 

Severus knew one thing for certain: Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were hiding something from him, and he would find out what it was. 

Weasley said hoarsely, “I think I have everything I need, sir. I’m sure you’ll want to start your day.”

“Certainly.” Severus repressed a smile at Weasley’s clumsiness. He said silkily and slowly, “I expect the wards prevent my displays from being overturned, yes?” 

“Yes, sir.” The blush on Weasley’s face deepened. 

“I only ask that you be punctual tomorrow morning, Weasley.” Severus fixed his best glare on Weasley, an eyebrow raised. “I’m sure that you can accomplish that, yes?” 

Severus pushed the biscuit tin at Potter. 

Potter pushed the tin back. He said softly, his head bowed, “They’re for you, sir. Keep them, please. If anything, for having to put up with me.” 

Severus snapped the lid shut. Merlin help him if Potter kept calling him sir like that.

He may not be responsible for his actions.


	7. Chapter Seven: Boiling Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Harry's visit to Severus' shop, tensions boil over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All characters and Harry Potter belong to J. K. Rowling and Warner Brothers. No monies are being made from this fanfiction and no copyright infringements are intended.

“Pants at baking?” Ron exploded once they had exited Diagon Alley into Muggle London. “Pants at baking! You’re lucky that ‘mione is your Secret Keeper about you being a baker, mate. You should rub it in that pompous bat’s face that you’re the best baker in all the Wizarding World.”

“I’ve told you to be respectful towards Severus,” Harry said through clenched teeth. He glared at Ron, his arms crossed. “And you know why I don’t tell anyone about my bakery. They’d never take it seriously and people would swarm it in one day.”

“Fine. Yeah, sure everyone would be barmy about the shop, but still. Why not brag about it to the greasy git, mate?” Ron threw his arms wide. “If I were you, I’d shove it in his hook-nosed face. He’d deserve it, you know.”

“His name is Severus,” Harry said icily.

“That bastard may be a genius at Potions, but could he bake a Victorian Sponge like you?” Ron jabbed his hands into the air, windmilling his arms as he paced in front of Harry. “I know he couldn’t bake a sticky toffee pudding worth eating. He ridiculed your potions, always claimed that you couldn’t make anything. That’d show the pompous prat.”

“His name is Severus,” Harry repeated, his eyes narrowed.

“Another thing!” Ron began. He stopped, blinking owlishly at Harry. “What?”

“I said his name is Severus.”

“Since when are you two on a first-name basis?” Ron crossed his arms, his eyes narrowed. “You’ve always called him Snape. What changed?”

“It’s his name.” Harry stalked past Ron, heading towards the Apparation point. He said, glancing over his shoulder, “I want to be respectful.”

“Oh!” Ron called after him. “You mean by calling him _sir_ a million times, yeah? I remember when we were in school and you would use that as a taunt. Now? You can’t call him it enough. What happened to telling the git that he doesn’t have to call _you_ sir, anyway? Come on, mate. Why call him by his first name now after all these years?”

Heat rose in Harry’s cheeks. He had come to think of Severus by his first name as his perspective of and affection for the man had changed. Snape was the angry and spiteful teacher that Harry had loathed. He was the unhappy spy. Snape was the bitter, petty man trapped in a terrible situation with no choice or hope.

That man no longer existed. Severus had been set free.

Harry had first come to know Severus through the potions book in his sixth year. He had been witty, intelligent, and mysterious. That Severus had been honest in his loneliness – not so much by what he had scrawled in the margins, but for what he hadn’t. Harry understood that the book had been Severus’ only companion that year.

The same way it had been for Harry.

Severus was who he saw in the memories, too. He was vulnerable, awkward, lonely, and bitter, yes, but also passionate, graceful, beautiful, and full of love. He had become to Harry a full, well-rounded person with real fears, hopes, and pain. Severus had revealed himself to be brave and loving even if he hid it under a veneer of petty malice. He was the man that had dedicated his life to defeating the Dark Lord after seeking to atone for a mistake in his youth. He was flawed, complicated, and lovely.

Severus and Snape were the same person and yet in Harry’s mind, they were two distinct people. Harry had grown and matured, knowing that he was no longer that precocious child, either. They had both changed. 

There was no way to explain that to Ron. Not without exposing how he really felt about Severus.

“It’s his name,” Harry stated, his voice meek to his ears. “I’m not a schoolboy anymore.”

Ron snorted, rolling his eyes. “I still don’t get why you care about him so damn much. So what if he was a spy. He’s still a sarcastic bastard.”

“I’m not having this fight with you again, Ron,” Harry stalked further down the alley, tugging his hood over his head.

“So you paid for his medical care in hospital,” Ron blundered on. “I still don’t know why. He’s still Snape. The point is you never told him and you haven’t had anything to do with him. So why call him Severus now?”

“Ron–,” Harry said through clenched teeth. “You know that paying for his care was the least that I could do. And if you haven’t noticed, Severus is his name! So I’ll call him by his bloody name!”

“Unless you’re talking to him,” Ron muttered, frowning. “Then it’s sir.”

“You called him sir, too!” Harry spluttered.

“Why did you bring him biscuits and tea anyway? He’s not worth your baking,” Ron sneered. “He’d have nothing nice to say if he knew that you’d baked them.”

“It’s polite to bring someone a gift when they start a new business,” Harry retorted, glaring. “It’s the least I could do.”

“Least you could do?” Ron sputtered, blinking. “Least you could do? Mate, you keep saying that. You don’t owe him anything!”

Harry stared at Ron, snorting. “The man dedicated his life to defeating Voldemort. And to protecting me. It’s the least I could do.”

“Didn’t paying for his medical care repay that debt, Harry?” Ron sighed, a puff of air fluttering his hair.

“I can never fully repay him,” Harry replied. “I owe too much.”

Ron stepped closer. He put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. He said softly, “You saved the sodding Wizarding World. You _died_ for all of us. You don’t owe anyone anything, least of all him.”

“I owe Severus everything,” Harry said, his voice wavering. “I need to go to my appointment. I’ll see you and ‘mione, later.”

With a crack, Harry apparated back to the alley near Grimmauld Place. He staggered a moment, blinking back tears. He wished Ron would understand. He wished Ron could see Severus as he truly was: strong, brave, and resilient.

\-------------

Harry entered Grimmauld Place on silent feet. He had no desire to trigger that blasted portrait. Once he entered the parlor, Kreacher greeted him with a low bow.

“Welcome home, Master Harry,” Kreacher said. “Tea be ready, sir.”

Harry pushed his hood back, giving the House Elf a tired smile. “Thank you, Kreacher. How is the bakery? What do we need for the morning rush?”

“Kreacher has taken care of it all, no need to worry, Master Harry.” The House Elf followed him on spindly legs. “Anna deep cleaned as yous commanded. Kreacher made sure all the morning rush items will be ready and under stasis charm, Master Harry.”

“Thank you, Kreacher,” Harry replied. He prepared his tea. “You’re a godsend.”

“Kreacher doesn’t mind, Master Harry.” The House Elf shivered at Harry with anticipation. He twisted his hands before him. Kreacher tugged a thread in his tea towel. He asked, “Kreacher knows it isn’t his place, but Kreacher wants to ask yous how your visit to Master Snape’s shop was.”

A blush heated his cheeks. Harry bit his lip, the late morning playing in his mind. “It went okay, I guess.”

Anxiety broiled in his gut. He hadn’t been too eager towards Severus, had he? Had Ron been right? Had he called Severus sir too many times? He replayed giving the man tea and biscuits and shuddered at how simpering he had appeared.

“I blew it.”

Harry slumped into the armchair next to the fire, his head in his hands.

“Master Harry?” Kreacher asked, his raspy voice full of concern.

“I probably went way overboard. I called him sir too much for starters.” Harry sighed, tugging on his hair. The pain grounded him. “I don’t learn from my mistakes. I did the same thing when he visited the shop.”

“Master Harry, surely it not that bad,” Kreacher implored. A weathered hand rested atop one of Harry’s. He curled his thin fingers into Harry’s, stopping him from pulling his hair more. “Tell Kreacher what happened.”

“I made such an arse out of myself, that’s what.” Harry blinked back tears. “He needed Ron’s help and I piggy-backed in and I shouldn’t have. He didn’t need me there to remind him of all the bad times during the war.”

“Yous didn’t mention the war, Master Harry, dids yous?” Kreacher asked gently.

“No.”

“Then hows dids yous remind Master Snape about the war?”

Harry lifted his head, scrubbing a hand through his hair to reveal his scar. “I’m sort of a living, breathing reminder of the war – both of them.”

“Yous is too hard on yourself, Master Harry.” Kreacher snapped his fingers. A blanket appeared in his hands. “Kreacher knows it wasn’t that bad.”

Harry snorted. He pulled the blanket around his shoulders. “Ron and I had a shouting match after.”

“About?”

“I said I was pants at baking to Severus. He can’t guess that I’m Dudley the Baker. Ron got angry, thought I should rub it in Severus’ face.”

“Yous gave Master Snape the tea and biscuits, Master Harry?” Kreacher asked, a small smile on his face. “Like yous planned?”

“Yeah.” Harry snorted. “He took them grudgingly. He told me ‘just this once, Potter.’ It was all me shoving something onto him when so many have done that to him in the past.”

“Kreacher sees.” The House Elf stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Did Master Snape drink the tea?”

“Yeah.” Harry pinched his nose. “He did. He also yelled at me for snooping around his shop. Clearly, I was in the way.”

“Nonsense, Master Harry.” Kreacher snorted. “Master Snape’s often all bark, no bite, especially when it comes to yous, Master Harry. He hides much under his bark. If Master Snape had wanted yous to leave, he would have told yous. He used to shout at Master Dumbledore or Mistress Minerva. Kreacher heard after Master Black was gone and he ended up at Hogwarts. Master Snape didn’t mean his bark. I’s knows it.”

Harry tugged his hair, sighing. “Maybe. He’s just so hard to read sometimes.”

“What else happened, Master Harry?”

“I almost told him about the bakery but covered it with the biscuits. I doubt it worked.” Harry stood, pacing the room. He bit his nails. “I never was any good at lying to Severus. He always knew, even if he couldn’t prove it.”

“And did Master Snape take a biscuit?” Kreacher asked, a sly smile on his lips.

“He did.” Harry stopped, smiling down at the House elf. “He said he’d only have one if I did, too.”

“He dids, Master Harry?” Kreacher’s eyes grew impossibly wide and then his smile broadened.

“Yeah. He did.” Harry narrowed his eyes. “What is that expression for?”

Kreacher bounced on his feet, rubbing his hands together. “Master Snape likes yous, Master Harry. He broke his shop rules for yous. This be a big deal. He wouldn’t do that for just anyone.”

“You really think he likes me?” Harry blinked, his jaw falling slack. He put a hand to his chest. “Me? Harry Potter?”

“Oh yes, Master Harry.”

“I don’t even know if he’s gay.” Harry scrubbed a hand on the back of his neck. “How would I even find out? It’s not like Wizarding Society is great at accepting our community. It’s not like I can just ask if he’s gay. What if he was just being nice just this once?”

“Yous thinks about things too much, Master Harry. He must likes yous to share a biscuit with yous.” Kreacher smiled again, nodding. His floppy ears fluttered with the movements. “What else happened, Master Harry?”

Harry took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He replayed Severus eating the biscuit. He had looked delectable, sexy, and sensual. Heat coursed through Harry at the banter they had shared. That rich velvet voice had left him hard. The man had savored his bake. No award or compliment could compare to sharing one of his baked creations with Severus.

He would have to create a vial of this memory.

“Master Harry?”

“He and I talked about the biscuits,” Harry said, awed. “He liked my gingerbread biscuits. Said that they went well with his tea.”

Kreacher chuckled softly. He climbed into the chair opposite Harry. “Kreacher told yous that Master Snape likes gingerbread. He likes it most at Yule, Master Harry. We’s always left him an extra plate.”

“Yule?” Harry’s nose wrinkled. “Hogwarts always celebrated Christmas.”

“Not Master Snape.”

“I didn’t know that.”

All revelations stunned Harry. The man was like a vast vault. He just needed to find the key.

“Perhaps he will like the plans I have for a gingerbread display this Christmas season.”

“Oh, he most certainly wills, Master Harry.”

\--------

_The darkness of the Shrieking Shack closed around Harry. He sat huddled out of sight. Voldemort complained to Severus about the failures of the Elder Wand. Harry peeked over the crate that shielded him. In the shadows, all he could see was the pale visage of Severus’ face. His expression remained impassive, the only giveaway of his fear and anxiety coming in the tightness of his lips. They thinned into a line. Severus bowed before Voldemort, trying to placate the madman before him. Severus had no power over the Elder Wand._

_Harry did._

_Harry froze, unable to burst forth from his hiding spot to save Severus. All too soon, the snake slithered into view, bobbing and weaving. Nagini watched and waited to strike. Her mouth opened wide. She would sink her fangs into the pale column of Severus’ unblemished throat._

_Voldemort turned his back and the deed was done._

_Nagini, fast as lightning, tore into Severus. The blood welled and trickled down his neck. She struck once, twice, three times. Severus’ body careened back with a heavy thud against the wall. His hand went helplessly to the wound in his throat. Blood flooded between his fingers. It frothed from his mouth. He gasped and wheezed, struggling to breathe._

_Harry crept out from his hiding spot and took Severus’ other hand into his own. He whispered, “I’m here, Severus. I won’t leave you. Fight.”_

_Severus stared up at him, his onyx eyes dulled with pain. He begged, “Look – at – me.”_

_Harry sobbed. He stared into those eyes, seeing pain, misery, and fear. Harry whispered, “I’m here, sir. I’m here.”_

_Severus swallowed and choked and coughed. He stared up at Harry, his face contorting into an expression of terror. “Please – Harry.”_

_Before Harry could respond, Severus slumped over and moved no more._

_Harry wept, brushing hair away from Severus’ face. He leaned down, kissing his temple tenderly. Harry whispered, “Goodnight, my sweet Prince.”_

_What was he supposed to do now? He didn’t know how to finish Voldemort off. Something was missing. He was supposed to have gotten something from Severus. Something vital to their cause._

_Harry choked back a sob. He had failed. Severus would die in vain._

Harry shot up with a jolt. He panted heavily, bile rising in his throat. Wrestling with the blankets tangled around his feet, he struggled to stand. He fled to the bathroom. Harry collapsed onto the floor, his palms smacking the toilet. He swallowed reflexively and groaned, trying to keep his stomach from expelling. Unable to fight anymore, Harry hurled up everything he had eaten that day.

A clammy heat and dampness coated his face. His head pounded. He shivered. Harry retched again, the horrible sounds echoing off the walls. He trembled, his body cold and weak. His stomach clenched hard. Harry doubled over from the sharp stabbing pain.

“Master Harry?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Kreacher stood fidgeting. He stepped closer, his thin hands reaching out for Harry. A worried frown covered his face and his ears drooped.

“Master Harry, let Kreacher help yous.” He snapped his fingers, conjuring a damp towel. He dabbed Harry’s forehead. “This second time this week, Master Harry. Yous needs to talk to someone.”

Harry shuddered at the thought of talking to anyone about his nightmares. No one else needed the burden of his anguish. He sighed as the damp towel wiped the sweat from his brow. He hated that he inflicted this on Kreacher. The elderly House Elf deserved so much better.

“I can’t,” Harry whispered.

“Stubborn boy,” Kreacher muttered. He dabbed at Harry’s neck. He leaned closer, a determined glare on his face. “Master Harry, Kreacher will tell Mistress Hermoine if yous don’t find someone to talk to. Yous can’t keep doing this. Yous wouldn’t be able to run your bakery if yous is too tired all the time.”

“No!” Harry surged to his feet. He swayed a moment, black spots swimming before his eyes. “No! You can’t tell Hermoine, Kreacher. You can’t.”

Guilt lanced through him at addressing the House Elf this way. He hated commanding him. Kreacher wasn’t his slave or his servant – at least not to Harry. Kreacher was Harry’s friend.

But he couldn’t bear Hermoine finding out.

She would realize how much he struggled. She would figure out how he felt about Severus. Harry couldn’t let either happen.

“Kreacher will obey,” Kreacher said, his raspy voice subdued. “Please, sir, yous is struggling. Talk to someone.”

“I will. Promise.”

Harry stomped out of the bathroom and towards his floo. He called out the name of the bakery and let it spin him into an unceremonious heap on the floor.

Harry had baking to do.

\----------

Harry pulled his dough from the bowl and onto his workbench. It hit with a soft plop, not quite formed. Small pockets of liquid still ran from it, forcing him to dust it with a layer of flour. Harry flipped it over, incorporating more flour to form a solid dough. He preferred kneading by hand, the machine he’d charmed always struggling too hard to knead it. He massaged it, finding the repetitive motions soothing. All the noise in his head receded. He slapped the dough on the bench, turning it. He loved kneading dough.

This was his fourth loaf since arriving at 2 AM. He had baked raisin bread, wheat bread, and sourdough. Harry now kneaded the dough for a cinnamon swirl bread. He shoved his palm hard into the dough, turning it at a quarter turn at each compression. Harry loved how elastic it became. The scent of yeast filled his nose. It stuck to his fingers, pulling and stretching. He shaped it into a ball with his hands and shoved his palm hard into it. He kneaded more of his dusting flour into the dough. Harry punched it a few times, watching dimples appear on its supple surface.

Once he completed kneading the dough, Harry put it into a new bowl to rise. He draped a towel over it. Next, Harry measured his cinnamon, baking spice, and sugar for the filling. He stirred them together, their sweet spiciness enveloping him. Harry dragged the spoon through, delighted as swirls of white sugar emerged. He set the bowl aside.

The terrible nightmare from the night before faded. Harry took a deep cleansing breath, the scent of fresh baked bread curling around him. Baking restored so much for him.

Harry sat down to work on his design for the Christmas Gingerbread display. He would recreate Hogwarts. Like the Marauders Map, Harry would people it. Harry would place all the people important to him in it as small gingerbread figures. These figures would also move, animated to wander the halls. It would take patience, trial and error, and creativity to make each figure recognizable in gingerbread. It would be his most ambitious magical bake yet.

It was the type of ambitious project that would keep him occupied — and less haunted by his nightmares.

It would keep him distracted from his pursuit of one acerbic Potions Master, too.


End file.
